


Irrevocably Gone

by fortunatelylori



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst and Romance, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 59,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21873961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatelylori/pseuds/fortunatelylori
Summary: By a stroke of cruel destiny and brotherly incompetence, Charlotte Heywood and Sidney Parker have been torn apart. The sepparation takes its toll on them both, in different ways, until an old friend decides to step in and lend a helping hand.If the summer spent in Sanditon, was filled with adventure and blosoming romance, winter brings with it longing and feelings that struggle to come to the surface from beneath a web of strains and deception. But winter is also a time for comfort and joy. Can Sidney and Charlotte find their way back to each other this Christmas or is their love story destined to remain irrevocably gone?
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker
Comments: 268
Kudos: 557





	1. Longing

**Author's Note:**

> well, hello everyone and thank you for joining me for my Sanditon Christmas Special! If ITV was stupid enough to pass up this amazing story, I'm certainly more than happy to provide myself and all of you with a continuation.  
> General warning: this is a 5 parter that is extremely long. I think it will average about 60.000 words by the time all is said and done. New installments will be added every day (except on the 22nd) and we will finish off with the finale on the 25th!  
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> PS: Special thank you to @and-holly-goes-lightly over on tumblr for beta reading this story and coming up with the title. It's from Jane Austen's Lady Susan: "The very first moment I beheld him, my heart was irrevocably gone."

**Part 1**

**_Longing_ **

**_By Matthew Arnold_ **

_Come to me in my dreams, and then_

_By day I shall be well again._

_For then the night will more than pay_

_The hopeless longing of the day._

The fire cracked, the flames licking at the hearth’s stone. Her father’s chair, placed near the fire place, creaked in response. As she went closer to the window, the floor board underneath her feet squeaked, old and dulled down by the passing of time and the lack of means to replace it.

With 14 people in residence, the Heywood house had never known a moment’s silence. And even now when all but one of its occupants were out enjoying the autumn evening at the local assembly rooms, the house kept noisy vigil for their return.

Only Charlotte had remained at home, quite alarming her parents when she claimed a headache to avoid going to the local dance. They had protested, together with the whole brood of her sisters and brothers, that she had never missed the harvest dance in her life.

She supposed she hadn’t but dancing did not seem as sweet to her now as it once had been. In truth, she longed for solitude. It was a most unnatural feeling as she had never required it before and most inconvenient as well since there was no privacy to be had in their small, family home.

They lived communally, everyone involved in every action and thought the other contemplated. She had never realized that before and it had never caused her a moment’s concern. Until now … until she desired the only thing that was always out of reach … The absence of noise and questions, of worried looks and hushed whispers as she walked by. 

She sighed deeply, wrapping her arms around herself as her eyes moved from the window of the drawing room to the desk in front of her. The letter placed on it seemed to emit its own kind of noise, fighting for her attention. Georgiana’s bright and bold handwriting dominated the white envelope, as if shouting at her through the paper.

She had moved it from the pile of letters in her room, the latest in a series of ever more urgent messages her friend kept sending her. She felt a dull sort of pain at ignoring them. And yet every time she reached to open one, she would put it down just as quickly.

With trembling hands, she picked up the envelope once again. She drew a sharp breath as she broke open the sigil, her stomach twisting in knots.

_“Dearest Charlotte,_

_It’s been three months since you left Sanditon and I haven’t heard a single word from you. I don’t expect that you will answer this letter as you have failed to answer any of the others I’ve sent. If I have offended you in any way, I wish you’d just tell me._

_If this silence, however, is concerning my wretched guardian, let me tell you that Sidney Parker …”_

The name sent a sharp jolt through Charlotte’s entire body and she instinctively crumpled the letter in her fist, unable to go on reading. Her breathing came out in rapid, ever desperate pants and through the trembling of her limbs, she rushed to the fire place, throwing the paper into the fire.

The walls around her seemed to cave in, the floor underneath her shifting until she was certain she would collapse. To stop herself from falling over, her legs sprung from underneath her, pushing her towards the door, as if independent of her will.

She grabbed her coat from the hook and she flung the door open, stumbling outside. The cold autumn wind blew through her open coat, pushing it to the sides, and lashing at her body. The rain dropped fast over her head and skin, plastering her loose hair to her forehead and cheeks.

She breathed in the crisp, earth filled air as she allowed her mind to wander. Through the tireless rush of thoughts and memories, one single form began taking shape. Tall, with deep, brown eyes and dark hair that would turn to sand in the sunlight.

The image was not all together as clear at it had been once and it filled her with dread. The memory was slowly but surely slipping from her grasp … And once it was gone, there would be nothing left.

Heavy of breath, she began to walk through the darkness, unaware of where she was going or what was underfoot. She splashed her way through mud filled puddles, dragging the edges of her coat and dress quite without thought. In the distance, she could hear the rushing of the river and she headed towards it, her only point of reference.

What was he doing now? Was he with her? The questions came, as they always did, and remained unanswered, slashing at her heart, tormenting her. She remembered watching the two of them talking in that ballroom and in her mind, the gulf between them and her grew ever larger, she but a mere speck in the distance, while they shined, bathed in warm candlelight, laughing. He was touching Mrs Campion’s waist and smiled in that way that seemed to light up everything around him.

_No more!_ She begged, shaking her head. The rain grew ever fiercer as she crossed the bridge but the cold water barely cooled her fevered body. She trembled and burnt and felt the rain drops on her cheeks in the place of the tears she did not allow herself to shed.

She edged ever closer to the river, lifting her skirts to dredge through the mud and rocks. Above the violent rippling of the water, his voice came at her again: _What do you know of love? Apart from what you’ve read?_ The gruff, resonating sound reverberated through her brain, every tonality the same, every breath between words recorded to memory like one of those psalms the Reverend would make them repeat in church.

She released a staggered breath and stopped. The sky above was darkened and restless, flashes of lightning peeking through the clouds. The low rumbles of a dreadful thunder began building as she closed her eyes and let the rain wash over her face.

She had known nothing of love. The books spoke of kindness and bliss. Of happiness and easy companionship through sun filled days. But they had lied to her. Love was a dreadful, dreadful thing. Hard and unyielding, a constant torment that grabbed hold of a person and squeezed every shred of light there was in the world.

_At this moment your world feels undone. You must put him from your mind. Or you will go mad._

“I hate you,” she whispered.

She hated him because he had found it so easy to give her up. She hated him because he was right now somewhere being happy with the woman he had loved for ten years. But most of all she hated Sidney Parker because he had taught her how to love him but not how to shut him out of her heart when her love became an inconvenience to be cast aside and retold through the years as an amusing anecdote to his high society, dandy friends.

The rumble grew and grew until a deafening crack seemed to split the skies apart. The sound made her jump, her breath caught in her throat and she stepped back.

Her foot slipped on the mud covered rocks on the bank and she stumbled backwards. Her arms flayed helplessly and a scream escaped her as she tumbled over and fell into the river.

The frigid water pricked at her like a thousand needles, rendering her body immobile. She gasped for air but her lungs were filled with water instead.

The current began pulling her downstream. Her hands and legs struggled against the water, managing to lift her head from beneath the current. She tried to push herself to an upright position but the river just pulled her back down, moving her at will, from side to side, pushing her below with increased regularity.

She gasped desperately, unable to catch her breath and coughed up water every time she managed to raise her head above the stream. She could feel her throat going into spasms and she knew she would soon be unable to breathe. Her heart beat out of control and she leaped forward, trying to find the ground underneath. She knew from experience that the river was shallow and yet every time her feet hit the ground, they slipped from underneath her on the mossy mud beneath.

Her clothes dragged in the water. Her father’s old wool coat, far too large for her when it was dry, was now soaked, the weight becoming increasingly hard to support. She slipped out of it and frantically looked from side to side, trying to find something to grab on to.

All around her there was only darkness.

_I’m going to die_ …The thought hit her with distinct clarity and she tried to scream … Out of horror or in the hopes of someone hearing her, she didn’t know. But still no sound came out. Just a strangled gasp as her throat closed up.

“How long will this take?” she heard a man’s voice in the distance.

Her eyes searched the bank desperately, trying to locate it. As she inched closer, she could see him standing very near to her, with his back turned.

“Help …” she said, the sound coming out faint and strangled, no match for the roar of the river.

“Not long, sir,” another voice answered. “This damned road is always giving us trouble but we’ll sort the wheel out in no time, sir.”

She was so close to them now that she could almost distinguish the four horse drawn carriage. She splashed at the water around her, trying to draw their attention. “Please … help …”

The frantic movement of her hands made her slip again, her limbs growing heavy, unable to fight the current any longer. Slowly, she felt herself sinking below the waters. She knew she did not have the strength to fight her way up again.

The water filled her eye sight and she breathed it into her lungs until she closed her eyes and let go. Everything turned dark and still and silent as Sidney wrapped his arm around her waist. _Roll your hands,_ he said. _Roll your hands._

***

“Miss?... Miss?”

She came to, coughing up water as someone was shaking her.

“Miss, are you all right?”

She heaved water through her mouth and nose, panting, desperate to breathe. Her chest burned from the coughing and her head was spinning. She could barely keep her eyes open.

All of a sudden, she was picked up by strong, steady arms and her head rested on a man’s chest. It felt hot and wet against her cheek and he smelled of smoke and cedar wood. “Sidney,” she whispered. “Sidney, you came back.”

She breathed in the familiar scent, allowing it to lull her to sleep. She was safe …

“Miss!”

Through the drowsiness, she could feel his fingers digging into her shoulders as he shook her, a strange inflection in his voice.

“Miss!”

She opened her eyes slowly, determined to ask him why he kept on calling her “miss” and was met with a pair of strange green eyes … He was not Sidney!

She jumped back in fear from the stranger, her back hitting against a cushion. Dazed, she frantically looked around, realizing finally that she was in a carriage.

“Do not be alarmed, madam!” the man said, pulling away.

Free of his forceful hands, she pushed herself back, towards the corner. She tried to reach out for the door handle but her hand was trembling so hard, she couldn’t keep it upright.

“My name is Andrew Gillingham, madam,” the man continued. “I assure you I mean you no harm. I only wish to see you safely returned home.”

An overwhelming chill grabbed hold of Charlotte. Her teeth rattled so fiercely she feared that they would break. She wrapped her arms around herself, curling into a ball but all this achieved was to press her cold, wet clothes closer to the skin.

“Here.” The stranger leaned in, holding a great coat. She flinched as he touched her but was unable to fight him off. He wrapped the coat around her and pulled back again. “What is your name?”

“Ch …Ch …Charlotte Hey … Heywood.”

He nodded and opened the door to the carriage. “Do you know where the Heywood residence is?”

“Aye, sir,” the reply came.

He was taking her home … The thought calmed her somewhat. She took a few deep breaths, trying to steady her heart beat. Soon she felt her eyelids growing heavy again. Her head bobbed up and down as the carriage began to move.

“Miss Heywood, it is very important that you remain awake.”

He was right. She was going into shock from the cold. She tried to open her eyes and focus on him. The image was blurry and shifting, his hat stretching infinitely above his head, the green of his eyes swirling and making her dizzy.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, eleven.”

“Tell me their names, Miss Heywood.”

She felt her body slipping down the bench and she could not pull herself up again. She leaned on her side, burying herself in the cushions, while she concentrated on the names, trying to remember them in order: “Alison,” she said, recalling her sister’s last worried glance as she left her in the doorway a few hours before. Poor Alison … She had behaved so badly towards her since she had returned. Avoiding her company, refusing to confide in her …

“Keep going.”

“Richard …” He had cut his hair recently, making her mother cry. “William.” He would be a great sailor one day … _Admiral Heywood_ … The thought made her moan in pain and she tightened her grip on the coat she was covered in. “Jane.” Long, blonde hair floating towards the river, a red boat in her hand. “Charles.” A man picking up a laughing boy and flipping him in the air.

“Keep going, Miss Heywood,” a voice urged her.

“Frances.”

She was startled when she was picked up and pulled out of the carriage. She had no strength to fight it so she did not even attempt it, allowing herself to be maneuvered at will, all thoughts of fear but distant rumblings dulled down by the shivers.

Outside, the wind was raging and it hit against the cold wet material of her dress, making her shake uncontrollably. She pressed herself against the man’s chest, as he rushed her down a pathway.

“Hello!” he shouted. “Is anyone home? Open the door!”

The old, oak door opened with a loud creak as it always did and she heard her mother screaming. “Charlotte!”

“She fell into the river.” The stranger’s voice mingled among the voices of her mother and siblings.

“Charlotte, my dear,” her mother said, her hand holding her head, as heat and light blazed at her, making her moan and close her eyes.

“Annie,” she said in response, remembering her task.

“She must be stripped and chafed all over,” the man said.

“Yes, of course. Pray bring her up. Alison, Charles … help the gentleman!”

“I’m here, Charlotte,” Allie whispered, kissing her forehead and putting her arms around her shoulders. Her legs were stretched in front and she could just see Charles’ little head peering ahead as they brought her up to the bedchambers.

She recognized the old leather chest at the foot of her parents’ bed. The red paint had peeled off in places, the straps worn out and ripped.

She felt herself dropped into the soft mattress.

“Margaret,” she whispered.

“Charles, ready the fire!” Her mother’s voice seemed far away, echoes playing in her ear. “Alison, help me undress her.”

As they began peeling off the layers of clothing, the chill spread throughout her body. Hands began dragging up and down her skin, rubbing her feet, shaking and pulling at her. “Nicholas.”

Her head was pulled up from the pillow and she was made to drink madeira. She coughed as the fiery liquid slipped down her throat and spread across her chest, the strong smell stinging her nose. “Harry.”

Her eyelids grew heavy and she began to fall … Down and down she went … “Cassie …”

_The darkness was all around her. She opened her mouth to breathe but she couldn’t. Her arms pushed to the sides and in front of her, trying to fight her way out or up … or … she didn’t know! She gasped for air and a terrifying wheezing sound came out, as if a great weight had been placed on her chest, squashing her, squeezing her._

_Finally, she could see a light up above. She pushed upwards with her hands, her legs moving frantically. With a choking sound, she lifted her head above the waters. The waves crashed against the shore, the sea breeze howling all around her. In the distance, she could see the sandy beach._

_On the shore, the Parkers stood, embracing. There was Tom and Mary on either side, Arthur and Diana at the back and Sidney … Sidney in the middle, smiling._

_She waved at them desperately. “Help! Please help me!”_

_Only Tom turned to look at her. His face was twisted in a wide, terrifying smile, his eyes bulging out of the sockets. “Wonderful news, Charlotte! Sanditon is saved!”_

_“Please!” she screamed, looking at Sidney. “Help!”_

_He looked at her and shook his head. “Dearest Charlotte, if there was any other way …”_

_The Parkers had gone. There was only Sidney now and Mrs Campion was standing next to him._

_“Please!” she begged_

_He just laughed as he took Eliza Campion’s hand and wrapped it around his arm. They turned and walked away as she slowly drifted below the waters. The cold water hit her and she gasped._

Her eyes opened like slits, narrow and blurry. She strained to breathe, wheezing instead. She could see Alison standing above her, pressing a cold compress to her forehead. “I’m here, Charlotte. I’m here,” she said, squeezing her hand.

She grabbed hold of her tightly. “Tell him, Allie. Tell him to come to me!”

“Tell who, my love?”

She shook her head, her eyes growing heavy again. “He won’t come … he won’t …”

***

Georgiana toyed with the food on her plate, pushing the piece of roast from one side to the other smearing gravy all over the small fisherman etched in the porcelain. It was a design in cobalt blue of a river, each plate with a boat and a fisherman throwing its net, the soup and salad bowls continuing with the scene on land of the women carrying the baskets of fish.

She remembered the set well. Her father had one just like it in their home in St. John’s. In the dim candle light, orange flames flickered onto the thick, tight curls of the women’s hair, the bare feet of the men … _Slaves_ …

Not that anyone took notice.

Tom Parker was engaged in conversation with the harpy Eliza Campion and his wife, Mary, seemed to find the view of the garden from the large window in front of them inexplicably captivating.

Her wretched guardian was sitting at the head of the table, his eyes focused on nothing in particular, while he downed glass after glass of wine and ate little. Every time he lifted the glass to his lips Georgiana could see the scabs on his knuckles cracking, revealing the raw skin underneath.

Her stomach twisted at the sight but she ignored it. Sidney Parker was a man without feeling. He ruined people’s lives, betrayed their trust. If some unfortunate hero managed to make him pay for it, all the better.

“The terrace is beginning to take shape,” Tom said, his animated voice sounding almost deafening in the quiet dining room. “When they are completed, they will be the wonder of England. Better than anything they could offer on the continent, for certain. Isn’t that so, Sidney?”

“Oh yes,” the harpy intervened, taking a sip of wine. “What is the Giotto’s Campanile compared to the marvels of Sanditon’s terrace apartments?”

“Yes, yes … quite,” Tom Parker stammered, his face twisted in a grimace. She had never seen anyone whose vanity could so easily be wounded. One pointed word and he unraveled.

“My only worry is that we will have to suspend the work until spring, Sidney. The men are already beginning to grow restless. If we were to ensure that they …” He hesitated, looking back and forth between his brother and the harpy. “If their expenses were covered through winter…”

“Tom!” His wife cut him off, her fork falling on the plate with a sharp clank. “Can we manage to get through a meal without mentioning Sanditon?”

“Yes, my dear, of course,” he said before promptly turning towards his brother again. “But, Sidney …”

“We will discuss this later. We mustn’t bore the ladies.” Sidney’s voice was implacable, his eyes fixed on Tom for a moment, until he saw him nod in agreement.

With his brother placated, Sidney picked up his glass again, downing the red wine in one swing.

“What of you, Miss Lambe?” the harpy said, forcing Georgiana to look at her. “How do you think Sanditon compares to Florence?”

Georgiana found it hard to imagine hating someone more. She hated those pretty blonde ringlets on her head and that satisfied smirk on her face. But above all she hated the way she would look her up and down as if she were no more than a kitchen maid scrubbing the floor.

“I wouldn’t know, Mrs Campion. I’ve never been.”

“You’ve never been to the continent?”

She sounded positively outraged but her cold blue eyes had zeroed in on her so intently that Georgiana suspected that there was more to it than the usual patronizing fare.

“Sidney, you must arrange a trip for Miss Lambe as soon as possible. No young lady’s education is complete without at least two, possibly three years on the continent.”

_Three years_ … The exact time until Sidney’s guardianship over her lapsed. Georgiana grit her teeth tightly, swallowing back her anger. She didn’t know why it upset her… She loathed Sidney Parker and his awful brother Tom and especially his dreaded fiancée. She would gladly go to the continent to be spared their presence …

“I can take care of it for you,” the harpy continued, her hand caressing Sidney’s arm. “Employ the best governess. Perhaps arrange for one of her friends to go with her …”

“That could prove difficult,” Georgiana said, her chin lifted high as she glared at Sidney, “since Mr Parker cost me the only friend I had on this miserable, damp island.”

Sidney’s eyes darted up to meet hers. She expected a flash of anger but there was only … pain? Since the summer, she had been faced with the empty, hopeless look in the mirror enough to recognize it.

“How is Charlotte?” Mary asked, her voice hesitant.

“I don’t know … I keep writing to her but she’s never sent a reply.” Tears began stinging Georgiana’s eyes and she had to take a deep breath to keep them at bay. Poor Charlotte … How angry she must be with all of them …

“Charlotte?” The harpy’s voice twisted menacingly at pronouncing the name but she kept an icy smile on her lips. “Is that the little governess you had for the season, Tom?”

“Charlotte is not a governess!” Georgiana cut Tom off. “She is a gentleman’s daughter.”

“Forgive me … I had not realized. She looked so disheveled at the regatta that it was hard to tell the difference. And her appearance at Lord Babington’s wedding! Did you notice the fraying of her dress, Sidney?”

Georgiana saw his jaw twitch momentarily but he remained silent.

“Sidney?”

“What?” he barked and turned to look at her with blazing eyes. He stared her down for a moment before exhaling audibly.

He finally turned from her and reached for the glass of wine.

“I think you’ve had enough!” The harpy took the glass from his hand as if he were a child and placed it next to her plate. “You are a fright when you drink.”

His hand curled tightly into a fist, cracking the scabs even further. He dropped his head and leaned back into his chair.

“So what do you say, Miss Lambe? I can have interviews prepared as soon as next week. And I am sure whoever we pick will be able to find you more suitable friends to accompany you. With any luck, you might spend Christmas in Florence!”

“Georgiana will be spending Christmas with us,” Sidney said.

Mrs Campion looked at him for a moment before forcing a smile. “Very well. However we shall have to begin preparations immediately after Christmas. If we delay, I will be too preoccupied with the wedding and …”

“You misunderstand me, Eliza. Georgiana is not going on a tour of Europe. She is staying here with us. She is part of this family. I will not have her so far away.”

His eyes met Georgiana’s across the table and for the first time in months, she didn’t feel quite so alone.

“Oh, I assure you, she will hardly feel the separation.”

“Be that as it may, I gave her father my word I would look after her and I intend to keep it.”

“Oh, Sidney, be reasonable. You must see the benefits such a trip would bring to a girl in her situation …”

“And what situation is that?” he asked, measuring her from head to toe.

Silence fell around the table and the harpy avoided Sidney’s pointed look. Her cold eyes met Georgiana’s for a moment and she kept her gaze as steady as she could, hoping that the humiliation would not show on her face.

“I think what Eliza meant to say …” Tom intervened.

“Tom!” Sidney said, lifting his hand to silence him.

Seeing that he had no intention of relenting, Mrs Campion finally pursed her lips and threw her napkin on the table. “It’s getting late. Perhaps you could call for my carriage.”

Sidney dragged the chair back across the wooden floor with a dreadfully loud creak before standing up and offering her his arm. The look of fury on the harpy’s face almost made Georgiana chuckle.

“Good night, Tom. Good night, Mary,” she said.

Tom scrambled to his feet. “Good night, dear sister!”

Georgiana rolled her eyes at the endearment and Tom’s deep bow.

“Good night, Miss Lambe,” the harpy said, turning to her.

Georgiana hesitated for a moment but found she could not help herself any longer. She smiled as sweetly as she could and took a deep curtsey. “The negress bids you good night, Mistress Campion.”

She took great pleasure in seeing the harpy’s cheeks burn as red as her dress as Sidney escorted her from the dining room.

Minutes passed and no one said anything.

Eventually, Tom stepped away from the table, heading for the window.

“I fear for him, Mary. Truly I do,” he said, at length. “At the rate he is going, he might lose his chance at happiness.”

“Tom, please,” Mary said, coming closer to him. “I think we should retire.” She attempted to grab his hand but he pulled away.

“No, no. I must speak to him.”

“Tom …it is not for us to …”

“Speak to me about what?”

Sidney was already halfway towards the table by the time they realized he had come back into the room. He promptly picked his glass from next to Mrs Campion’s abandoned plate and poured himself another drink.

“About this!” Tom said, coming towards him. “This is most troubling, brother. Most troubling indeed! I see all the signs of dissolution that forced you to Antigua ten years ago.”

Sidney ignored his brother’s alarm and sat down in the chair, continuing to drink.

“Do you not see what this behavior might cost you? Cost us?”

“Us?” Sidney asked.

It had been a slip of the tongue, Georgiana realized, as Sidney’s question caught Tom off guard. He dropped his head, hesitating for a moment. ehHe “Yes … I say …” He took a deep breath before continuing, his voice growing every more urgent and pleading: “The terrace apartments need just a few more months of work, Sidney. That is all. If Mrs Campion can be entreated to …If she was assured of how loved … how cherished she was … she …”

Sidney’s face remained still but the light seemed to drain from his eyes the longer Tom spoke. Behind her, Mary gasped and when she turned to look at her, Georgiana realized she was crying.

“After all she was … you loved her for ten years and it would be a pity to throw it all away now …” Tom’s voice trailed off ...

“All this time,” Mary said. “You pretended you didn’t know but you did … How could you, Tom?”

Sidney released a shaking breath and got up from the chair. “I will be out for the evening,” he said, in a dull voice.

“Brother, I …” Tom made a halfhearted attempt at following his brother only to be faced with a closed door, as Sidney left the room.

Hunched over and suddenly very small, Tom Parker turned towards his wife. “Mary, I only meant …”

“Stay away from me,” she said, her words choked by the tears.

As she looked at Tom Parker, his face reddened, his eyes moving from side to side like a demented chicken as he tried to find a way of undoing what he had just done, Georgiana could not bare it any longer.

She jumped to her feet and ran out the door. She raced down the hallway just in time to catch Sidney being helped into his coat.

“Where are you going?”

“You shouldn’t talk to her like that, you know,” he said, avoiding her question. “She is to be part of our lives and you will need to find a way to tolerate her.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is she going to be part of our lives? You despise her and she treats you terribly.”

He picked his gloves and cane from the butler, dismissing him. “That will be all”

He waited until the man had left to speak. “Do not say that, Georgiana. She is going to be my wife.” He put his hat on and turned to leave.

“Without equality of affection, marriage can become a kind of slavery.”

The words stopped him in his tracks and she could see the grip on his cane tightening. “You read that in a book, no doubt.”

“No. Charlotte said it. At Lady Denham’s luncheon.”

“Miss Heywood,” he said, pausing after speaking the name, “was always prone to romantic exaggeration.”

He wanted his words to sound cold and detached and perhaps she might have believed him if it wasn’t for his hand trembling on his silly cane. “Sidney …”

“Good night, Georgiana!” He stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

Georgiana stood in the hallway, for quite some time after he had gone. Her mind wandered back to Charlotte’s lack of reply to her letters and Tom Parker’s mercenary suggestions, everything becoming clearer.

She had been mistaken. Charlotte had called herself naïve once and Georgiana had to admit to the same failing. Perhaps to anger too, a feeling so bitter it had doomed her to blindness for too long.

But the knowledge that Sidney was not the heartless creature she had thought him, the tender feelings he must surely still feel for her dear friend … They could not help but pull at Georgiana’s heart. Not least because the pain the two of them were feeling coursed through her veins as well.

Her thoughts turned back to Otis and she pulled out the locket from around her neck, to look once again at the picture hidden inside.

Perhaps there was a way … a way to resolve all of this to the satisfaction of everyone … But for that she would need to do more than write a letter.

***

The roof of the barn leaked, droplets of water falling onto his head and down his face. All around them the crowd of bawdy, drunken men screamed, cheering and leering. They stumped their feet, raising up the dirt and grime from the wooden floor as Sidney and his opponent circled each other.

The atmosphere was heated and the rush ran through his veins, spurring him on. His focus was solely on the adversary in front of him: a burly, red bearded coach driver named Travers. He moved like a log and had no strategy but his punches were like boulders flung at him at great speed.

His head snapped back as the fist made contact with his cheek. He staggered backwards, losing his footing and dropping his guard.

Travers stalked him, his right hook hitting him in the stomach swiftly, making him stumble into the screaming crowd.

“Your eye is swelling up,” Babington said pressing a cold cloth to his right brow. “We should stop this.”

“Don’t you dare!” Crowe shouted so close to his ear that Sidney moaned as the sound pierced his ear drum. He swayed on his feet, leaning against him. “I have a hundred on this, Parker. Don’t let me down!”

Sidney panted, the left side of his body burning with every shallow breath he took. Still, the pain was bearable. The ribs couldn’t have been broken.

His opponent circled at a distance, shouting and grunting to the cheer of the crowd. Prior to the match, Babington had advised against taking him on. “It would be more punishment than sport,” he had said.

His bruised body was testament enough of that. He took a deep breath, cut off by the pain, and spit on the floor, barely registering that he had coughed up blood. “I’m fine,” he said, pushing himself back into the center.

He lifted his guard, keeping one arm closer to the right side of his face trying to protect his head. He knew the left elbow was too loose to protect his ribs but he moved forward on unsteady legs, as if crossing the length of a boat going down river.

The man lunged at him immediately. He ducked the blow, using his superior speed and followed swiftly with a right hook to the stomach. His knuckles burned at the impact as if the man was made of steel.

He stepped back, shaking his bloodied hand to dull out the smarting pain while his opponent just grunted and came at him again. Soon he was staggering back, caught on his heels as the man lunged blow after blow at him. It became harder to catch his breath, the left side of his body slowly beginning to constrict him, until every movement cut through him like a knife.

As he turned to the side, meaning to aim below the man’s guard, at his liver, he was caught by a mean left hook that struck at part of his eye and his ear. The world came to a standstill, as the sounds of the crowd were swallowed by the ringing in his ear. Blood poured from the cut on his eyebrow and he lost vision in his right eye.

“We have to stop this!”

Babington pulled at his arm but Sidney pushed him away. “No!”

He signaled the man to come at him again, even though he couldn’t quite make him out through the blur.

He swayed on his feet, unable to move, watching as the large form got closer and closer to him. The first punch washed over him, pushing him through the rapid currents of the river, to the bottom. He struggled to catch his breath. His feet slipped on the wet floor but he found his footing somehow, standing upright again.

_Sidney …_

He turned his head to the right, his blurry eyes looking through the crowd, in search of the familiar voice. Another blow hit him in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. He doubled over, wheezing.

As he looked up, the carriage was drifting away, swallowed by the sea. He felt a blunt hit to the head and his vision turned to black.

Water splashed across his face and as he opened his eyes, for a moment, he could see her standing on the shoreline.

“Come now, man. Wake up!”

A hard slap to his cheek made his vision come into focus and he saw Babington standing above him.

“Can you hear me, Parker?”

Sidney nodded, swallowing the iron tasting blood collecting from his bleeding gums. To try and prove it, he lifted his head, looking around in a daze. The barn was still and quiet, the dust having settled with the departure of the frenzied crowd.

As he tried to get up, the pain from his ribs shot up through his entire body like fire and he stifled a groan, his arm pressed tightly against his bruised side.

“I’m taking you home,” Babington announced.

Sidney shook his head, leaning into his friend as he got up. His legs were like lead beneath him and half of his face felt as if it had been mauled off but he couldn’t go home. “No!” he said. “There’s more sport to be had!”

“You’ve had enough sport for one night, my friend.”

Babington tried to take his arm but Sidney pushed him away, staggering forward. Through the dimly lit, smoke filled barn, he saw Crowe approach with a bottle of scotch in one hand and a stack of bills in the other, grinning from ear to ear. “The damnedest thing,” he said, his words slurred. “It seems I meant to bet on Parker but ended up putting the money towards his opponent. I just earned myself five hundred pounds.”

“Good!” Sidney said, grabbing the bottle from his hand and taking a big gulp. He sighed in relief as the burning liquid dulled the pain in his jaw and spread down his throat. “You can purchase tonight’s entertainment for my troubles.”

“Sidney, come,” Babington tried again, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Those bruises need tending to.”

“Oh, not to worry on that score,” Crowe said, pulling Sidney out of Babington’s grip. “I know quite a few girls at Mrs Harris’ who will be more than happy to undertake the task. Best go home to your wife, Babington!”

“Crowe, this is no joking matter. He can barely stand.”

“You’ve been well and truly tamed, my friend,” Sidney said, taking another gulp of scotch. “But I have not. Nor do I intend to be. So save your worries and go home.”

He turned, clinging to Crowe for dear life as they headed for the door, staggering more than walking out into the street.

When it came to matters of debauchery and inebriation, Crowe moved with admirable efficiency. In less than half an hour they were already across town, in front of Mrs Harris’ … boarding house. The euphemism caused him to smile momentarily before it twisted his guts sharply and he reeled in pain.

He stumbled out of the carriage and would have nearly fallen over if Crowe hadn’t caught him by the arm and pulled him upright.

“Your state is a disgrace, Parker! I had more to drink than you and I can still stand on my own two feet!”

Judging by how Crowe was leaning into his bruised ribs, Sidney begged to differ. “Were you also trampled by a human ox?”

“Nonsense! No real gentleman would allow himself to be hurt by a coach driver! You are perfectly fine!” he said, dragging Sidney through the narrow hallway and into the red parlor.

The heavy scent of incents and tobacco hit Sidney as soon as he walked in, dazing him. All around him, couples were lounging on the sofas, some sequestered to the far corners, others interlaced in view of anyone who would care to look.

In one alcove, the sight of an old man’s thin, wrinkled finger trailing down the throat of a young girl caught his eye. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, her eyes staring into the distance, while the man untied her dress and buried his face into her bosom.

He turned away from the sight, feeling as if he was going to wretch.

“Ah! Mr Crowe! Mr Parker! ”Mrs Harris said, rushing to greet them. She had a permanent, tight smile on her face that betrayed nothing but her eyes widened as she looked at Sidney. “Welcome … gentlemen. Welcome! How can we divert you tonight?”

“I’ll have the German twins as usual, Mrs Harris,” Crowe said, pulling the stack of bills from his pocket. “And bring us your best nurse maid for Parker over here.”

“Of course,” Mrs Harris said, taking the money and stuffing it down her exposed stays. “The twins are in the blue room, ready and waiting. As for Mr Parker, Lavinia will see to his needs.”

She motioned behind her and a tall, slender blonde, covered in layers of golden taffeta walked towards him. Her skin seemed made of alabaster, contrasting starkly with her rouged lips. Her hair was intricately arranged into flowing curls swirling around the crown of her head and then falling down with studied ease.

“Mind his ribs,” Crowe instructed her before leaving.

“Don’t you worry,” she said, a half smile dancing on her lips as she looked at him. “I know exactly what to do with you.”

She took his hand and pulled him after her down a darkened corridor. He staggered, from one wall to the other, gripping the bottle of scotch tightly and grunting in pain. The heavy perfume she was wearing danced in the air, burning his nostrils and making him dizzy.

The row of doors on either side seemed endless and behind them, every so often, he could hear soft sighs or the creaking of beds. He shook his head trying to remain alert but all that caused was for a splintering ache to stretch between his temples.

Finally she opened a door at the far end of the corridor and pulled him inside. The room was large and dark, a roaring fire blazing on one side, casting large shadows on the golden lion head that adorned the headboard of the large, four poster bed. 

He walked towards it, careful to avoid the bear skin laid on the floor.

“Let me help you,” the girl said, rushing behind him. She grabbed the bottle of scotch as it slipped from his grasp and pulled at his coat, while he kept walking.

He fell onto the bed head first, jolting his ribs. He let out an audible moan as he propped himself against the pillow. Through half closed eyes he saw the layers of golden taffeta glimmering in the firelight as the girl came closer to him.

She put the bottle of scotch on the bedside table and leaned in, her slender fingers grazing the skin of his neck. He sighed as they trailed downwards, beginning to unbutton his blood soiled shirt.

“There,” she said, her palm caressing his chest softly. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

He felt her hair brushing his skin, her breath falling onto his face and he opened his eyes. She was leaning closer to him, her tongue darting out to lick at her rouged lips as she prepared to kiss him.

“No …,” he said, putting his fingers over her mouth.

They were fine lips, curved and soft to the touch, but they were not hers.

Hers were full and pink, stretching widely when she smiled and thinned sharply when she used them to reproach him. And when he had kissed them, they tasted as sweet as honey and turned red and pliant to greet him.

No … these were a stranger’s lips. And he could not bring himself to replace one with the other.

“No kissing?” she asked.

When he shook his head, she shrugged and dropped her attentions to his half unbuttoned shirt.

“That’s enough,” he said, not unkindly, stopping her roving hands. “You can go.”

“Are you sure? Your friend paid for the whole night.”

He nodded and closed his eyes, drifting. In the distance, he could see her on the cliff tops, the wind dancing in her dark brown hair, messing her loose curls. He reached out a hand, trying to touch her, but she slipped his grasp, standing just out of reach. “Charlotte …” he whispered, the name barely managing to come out.

Something cold and wet pressed up against his eye and he hissed. He opened his eyes to find Lavinia still there, a cold compress in hand, patting at the wound on his face.

“Do you have a sweetheart at home?” she asked.

He closed his eyes again. “I did.” He remembered her crying the last time he had seen her and the memory filled him with shame anew.

“What happened?”

_I do not think badly of you …_

“I lost her.”


	2. Love's philosophy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what Jane Austen said: If adventures do not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad. (Northanger Abbey)
> 
> Get ready to travel, guys!

**Part 2**

**_Love’s Philosophy_ **

**_By Percy Bysshe Shelley_ **

_And the sunlight clasps the earth;_

_And the moonbeams kiss the sea; -_

_What are all those kissings worth,_

_If thou kiss not me?_

It was an uncommonly fine November morning. The sun was shining brightly and the meadow behind their house was brimming with excitement.

Margaret, Nicholas and Harry had decided that a troll was most certainly hiding behind the hedgerow that separated the meadow from the vegetable gardens. Apparently, trolls hated having their afternoon naps disrupted and her young siblings had bravely undertaken the task of eradicating him from the premises by racing towards his dwelling quarters behind the hedgerow, stabbing the foliage with their wooden swords and then promptly running back towards the blanket where Charlotte and her sister Alison were sitting.

“Look, Charlotte, we’ve almost vanquished him!” Nicholas screamed, excitedly.

“I can see that,” Charlotte said, smiling. “One more stab and he’s done for!”

A sudden gust of wind sent a chill through Charlotte’s body and she coughed. Her stomach contracted painfully as the coughing attack went on.

“Are you well?” Alison said, her hand soothing her back.

The outburst left Charlotte reeling and her chest burning, causing her eyes to water. “Yes,” she said. She wrapped the thick woolen coat Alison had labored on for almost a week tighter around herself.

Alison’s brow was still frowned, no doubt worried that she had made a mistake in relenting when Charlotte insisted in coming for their afternoon walk. Her eyes were reddened and Charlotte could see the signs of exhaustion fraying on her nerves. Since she had fallen into the river, all Alison had done was tend to her, reluctant even to go to sleep.

“I’m fine, Allie. Truly I am! Please don’t worry. I’ve made myself a nuisance for far too long.”

“You could never be a nuisance,” she said. “To think you were so close to …”Her lower lip trembled slightly and she quickly shook her head. “Oh, I hate him! I hate him for causing you such pain!”

“Hate who?” Charlotte said. Surely Allie didn’t mean …

“Sidney. That was his name wasn’t it?”

“How did you …?”

“You said his name … that night. The worse your fever got, the more you asked for him …”

Charlotte reeled, sucking in her breath and looking away from her sister. When she had awakened from her delirium, she had feared that she had given away her secret. But neither Allie nor her mother mentioned anything and she had thought herself safe.

How wrong she had been. She had not mastered her feelings after all.

“Do the others know?” she asked, her throat constricting.

“No. Mama had already gone to bed.” Alison took her hand. “My love, won’t you confide in me? What did he do to you?”

Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears and she breathed deeply to stop them from falling. “Nothing …” she said, her voice cracking.

Her tortured answer did nothing to convince Alison so she tried again, speaking through the pain, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Truly, Allie! Mr Parker is a gentleman. He would never do anything inappropriate.”

“But he propositioned you? He told you he loved you?”

Allie’s confused expression stopped Charlotte in her tracks. In all her sleepless nights, in all the relentless thoughts and memories that attacked her daily, she had failed to consider such a simple thing. Sidney Parker had never told her that he loved her … He had implied it. He seemed close to saying it on more than one occasion. But he had never said it.

The realization canceled any anger or fury she might have felt and the frantic rush of emotions that had overwhelmed her but moments before was gone, drowned in the constant but comfortable ache she was slowly becoming familiar with.

“No. It was nothing of the sort, Allie. I allowed myself to think his feelings might run deeper than those of an acquaintance for a time. But I was mistaken. Mr Parker’s affections had been engaged elsewhere for many years.”

_I do not love her, you know._

She ignored the hushed words still singing in her ear and the memory of his dark eyes searching frantically for permission. A momentary lapse, no doubt. Quickly forgotten as soon as he returned to the arms of his gloriously endowed fiancée.

“Then why did you call out to him?”

“I’m sure I do not know,” she said, shrugging. “You can hardly hold me accountable for what my feverish mind might have conjured up.” She was surprised when she was able to even give out a light sort of laugh that had Alison looking at her as if she had grown two heads.

Eager to get away from Allie’s prying eyes, she looked around, fixing on the road ahead. By chance, she found her escape in the form of a gentleman on horseback. He was advancing, at leisurely pace. She recognized the dark blue great coat and matching top hat.

“Ah!” she said, rising from the blanket. “There is Mr Gillingham, I believe.”

“Back for his daily visit.”

“Yes. He’s been very kind.”

“Oh, very kind indeed,” Alison said, her teasing tone causing Charlotte confusion.

“What do you mean?”

Alison laughed. “Charlotte! I know very little of men but even I know that they’re not so kind as to visit a sick girl unless they have a particular interest in her.”

Charlotte shook her head decidedly. “You are mistaken. I am quite certain he does not regard me in that way.”

It was true that Mr Gillingham had been a fixture in their house since the day he had so bravely saved her life but Charlotte could not see any signs of particular interest on his part. At times she did wonder why he had continued to visit her once it was clear she had made it past the worst of her illness.

Still he came diligently, every day. They would walk the gardens together, making very little conversation and his mind always seemed to be elsewhere. Which was a blessed relief for Charlotte since it meant that there was no one there requiring her to speak or share more than she wanted to.

“He is frightfully handsome, though. Isn’t he?” Alison said as they started walking down the pathway.

“Yes, I suppose …”

“Mr Gillingham!” Alison shouted, waving at him. “Mr Gillingham!”

His head snapped in their direction immediately and he touched the brim of his hat in recognition, before dismounting. In mere moments, he had tied his horse to the fence that ran alongside the narrow pathway, marking the sheep enclosure, before starting to walk towards them.

He was a tall gentleman, of no more than thirty years, with dark blonde hair and fine, strong features. A sharp, marked jawline gave his face a certain gravitas that was compounded by the light teasing air in his green eyes and his half smile that he bore to much effect whenever possible.

“Ah, Miss Heywood!” he said, all ease and affability. “Miss Alison. What luck to run into you here.”

“Not quite luck, Mr Gillingham,” Charlotte said, smiling. “You were after all on the road leading to our house.”

“Yes, Miss Heywood, but then I might have risked a futile journey had you been out or engaged in more pressing matters that would have deprived me of the pleasure of your company.”

Next to her, Alison smiled brightly at his teasing. He had that effect on most people. He knew how to control the tone of his melodic voice, the rhythm of his words to give as pleasing a performance as possible to whoever should happen upon his company.

It seemed to Charlotte that Mr Gillingham was very adept at making himself liked by everyone but showed no true appreciation for anyone in particular.

“It was very lucky that you did find us, Mr Gillingham,” Alison said. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to escort Charlotte home. I fear the air has turned a bit chilly and it may be some time before I am able to convince my brothers and younger sister to follow suit.”

Alison’s attempt at matchmaking was both awkward as well as rather sweet and Charlotte couldn’t help but smile. Her sister had not believed her indifferent response and had decided to take matters into her own hands by presenting her with what she believed would be a suitable alternative.

“Of course!” he said before turning to her and stretching his hand in invitation. “Miss Heywood …”

In other circumstances, she might have felt embarrassed or worried at what he might have thought but she knew well enough that their personal acquaintance could not give raise to suspicions of deeper feelings on her part. So she nodded in agreement and began walking at pace, while Alison departed in search of the children, with a relieved smile on her face.

The road leading back to the house was rather winding, flanked by tall trees on either side, almost giving the impression of walking through a forest, particularly at this time of year when the leaves fell, carpeting the muddy path in shades of yellow and orange. The foliage crinkled underneath her feet and she found herself staring down, anticipating the next, particularly dry one that would crunch pleasantly underfoot.

At length, Mr Gillingham spoke, his even tone giving way to equally neutral conversation. “How have you been feeling, Miss Heywood?”

“Well enough,” Charlotte said, smiling. “I wish people would stop worrying. I’m afraid I have made myself quite a burden the past few weeks.”

“Not at all! I assure you, no one in your acquaintance could ever think you so.”

Charlotte thought he would remain silent but, after a time, he began speaking again.

“You must count yourself very fortunate. Not everyone is able to enjoy the attention of so many that care so deeply for them.”

Charlotte could detect a hint of sadness to his observation. “Is your family living abroad?”

“No,” he said. “My parents died when I was very young and there were no siblings, I’m afraid. I was raised by my mother’s uncle.”

Charlotte’s attention was fixed on him for the first time since the night he had saved her from the river. He had never offered so much information about himself and the honest mournfulness in his voice caught her off guard. “Is your uncle still living?”

He frowned at the question and quickly looked away from her. “No,” he said, bluntly.

The Charlotte that had enthusiastically boarded the Parker’s carriage for Sanditon would have pried further and provided appropriately romantic explanations for Mr Gillingham situation when no answer was forthcoming. Perhaps some grave injustice at the hands of the evil uncle which had forced Mr Gillingham abroad?

But the Charlotte who had returned from Sanditon kept quiet. She had learned that speaking sometimes only hindered, rather than helped. It was best to let people reveal themselves at their own pace. Eventually, they would expose their true character.

As if to prove her point, Mr Gillingham supplied further conversation when the silence stretched on for too long. “I actually came to say good bye. I have urgent business in London that cannot be delayed any further.”

“I see.”

She felt no pangs of distress at the news and it was clear he did not either. It was as she suspected. Mr Gillingham held no particular regard for her. His manner of expressing himself, his calm demeanor betrayed no particular regret in leaving her. There was no searching gaze, no deep sighs or twitching of the jaw that could indicate any repressed desire. His countenance was serene and all together remote.

She was relieved although she couldn’t help but feel sorry for having to disappoint Alison so soon into her matchmaking career.

“I hope your business venture concludes satisfactorily,” she said after a time, as they left the winding road behind and came in full view of the house. 

“Oh I doubt it … One way or another, someone is bound to remain unsatisfied by the whole damn affair …”

He stopped himself just short of revealing anything important. There was a restlessness in him that could not be denied. He fiddled with his cane, lashing at the leaves on the ground before exhaling in frustration. A most strange reaction given his clam indifference just moments before.

“I wonder, Miss Heywood, what you would do in my place? If you held the happiness of some in one hand and the unhappiness of one that was once … dear to you in the other …If one word from you, one action might determine one outcome over another. What would you do?”

He stared at her so intently that she knew there was a great deal more behind his words than mere theoretical interest.

“I suppose it would depend …” she said cautiously.

“On what?”

“On what the right thing to do would be.”

“Ah! But who is to say what is right and what is wrong?”

“We all know right from wrong, Mr Gillingham. Although we might choose to pretend otherwise.”

He smiled his half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Perhaps you are right…” He inched closer to her. “Have you ever been in love, Miss Heywood?”

His question sent a shiver down her back, not least because of the way he seemed to see right through her. “No,” she lied.

“That would explain it then. It’s much harder to know right from wrong when one’s mind is clouded by sentiment,” he said. “It is for the best that you have not, Miss Heywood. I sense in you a propensity for deep, abiding feelings that you might entertain for the rest of your life. A quite dangerous outcome, I assure you.”

His eyes wrecked through her as if she were no more than a page in a book, readily accessible to anyone who might care to read it. She swallowed before dropping her gaze and turning her attention towards the leaves.

She smiled a small smile that she hoped helped conceal the way his words had rattled her and began walking towards the bridge that separated the house from the rest of the keep.

A cold shivered began prickling at her, despite her cheeks burning. It was another fever attack, she knew. . They came and went throughout the day and she was finding it harder and harder to conceal them from her family. She was already starting to feel dizzy and tired. Her heart beat faster with fear but she pushed it down and kept walking.

“Perhaps you would allow me to write to you,” Mr Gillingham said, stopping her halfway through the crossing

His insistence only helped in making her even more anxious of what his true intentions might be. His face was a mask that betrayed nothing and his cold eyes observed her with indifferent curiosity. Still, she could not refuse him. “Mr Gillingham, I owe you my life. If letters will in some small way help address that debt, I will happily receive as many as you would be so kind as to send me.”

He frowned at her reply, clearly unhappy with her less than enthusiastic response but she was spared any further inquiries when Jane dashed across the courtyard, towards them.

Her small face was all a flush and her blue eyes were dancing with excitement. “Charlotte! Charlotte! You must come at once!”

“What is it, Jane?” Charlotte said, already hitching up her skirts and running towards her sister.

Jane almost crashed into her, panting loudly. “Your friend is here!”

“Which friend?”

Charlotte didn’t have many friends in Willingden. The Heywood’s’ were such a large family that they were rarely thought in want of company in town so no one quite dared approach them.

“The funny looking one,” she whispered.

A sharp pain twisted in Charlotte’s stomach _. Georgiana_ …

***

Georgiana leaned into the chair in the drawing room, sipping her tea. On the other side of the long table, the Heywood children were sat in a straight line, mouths agape, staring at her.

She kept her head down, but as one of the older boys leaned in closer to look at her, her eyes darted up, making him look away quickly. She had to suppress a smile. 

All that was keeping them in check was the presence of their mother, at the head of the table, holding the littlest one. She was a pretty baby of no more than three, with large, round eyes and rosy cheeks. She looked a lot like Charlotte, Georgiana thought.

They all did really. They were pretty and kind sort of people, with a disarming sense of innocence about them. Even their staring, which so bothered her in others, wasn’t malicious or cruel. They were curious and excited, not vicious.

She wondered though how Charlotte managed it, living with so many people under the same roof. The drawing room was overflowing and there was still the father and two of the brothers missing, having gone to town for the local fair. 

She smiled into her cup as she took another sip. Soon Charlotte wouldn’t have to worry about any of that. If everything went to plan, she would be living in London, with her own house to manage and no sheep in sight.

Footsteps banged on the floorboards just outside the room and everyone quickly turned towards the door just in time for it to burst open. Charlotte was dragged in by her sister Jane, the two girls followed by a gentleman dressed in the latest London fashion.

Georgiana might have thought the man strange in such company had she time to study him but her attentions were soon distracted by Charlotte’s appearance. Her mother had told her she had been sick, but Georgiana was shocked at the state of her.

She was pale as wax, her cheeks sunken in, large dark circles under her eyes. She had lost weight as well and she had an altogether austere, hard look to her that did not sit well at all with the happy, lively friend she had made in Sanditon.

“Georgiana,” Charlotte finally said, her voice hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

Georgiana instinctually got up from the chair and hugged her. She could feel her hesitating for a moment before her arms wrapped up around her.

“Miss Heywood … How have you been?”

Otis stepped out of the corner to greet her and Charlotte immediately stepped back. Her eyes grew wide and she stared at him in disbelief before turning to Georgiana.

“What is this?” she whispered. “What have you done?”

“Charlotte,” her mother said. “Mr Molyneux and Miss Lambe have come with an invitation for you to join them for the London season.”

“Georgiana has,” Otis clarified, coming closer. “I’ve just accompanied her here.”

“Does Mister …” Charlotte stopped herself and licked at her lips, swallowing the name.

“No, my wretched guardian doesn’t know I’m here,” she said, laughing.

Charlotte let go of her hands as if they burned and stepped away. “How could you, Georgiana!” she said, her cheeks aflush. “Don’t you remember the havoc your disappearance produced last time? And to bring Mr Molyneux with you …”

“Well, that’s precisely why I brought him,” Georgiana said, feigning glibness. “I did not dare brave the journey alone.” Her eyes rolled in amusement but her friend was having none of it.

Charlotte shook her head angrily. “You must go back! You must …”

Suddenly she was unable to continue, as she began to cough. She brought her hand to her mouth and leaned against a chair.

The loud, violent attack went on, shaking her thin frame until Georgiana feared she might collapse. She struggled to breathe in between coughs, wheezing horribly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Georgiana said, not knowing what to do. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you!”

“Jane, fetch some water,” Charlotte’s mother instructed, as she got up and handed baby Cassie to one of the boys.

“You should sit down, Miss Heywood,” the man that had accompanied Charlotte into the drawing room said.

He guided her towards the chair and helped her sit, while her coughing slowly subsided.

“Here, Charlotte,” Jane said, handing her the glass of water.

Charlotte took it and began to drink quickly.

“Slowly, my dear,” her mother said, taking the glass from Charlotte’s trembling hand.

“You need to go back, Georgiana,” she said, looking back at her. “Everyone will be so worried. I know you think mister … Mr Parker doesn’t care for you but he does. Please, Georgiana,” she pleaded, taking her hand.

Georgiana smiled and sat down next to her. “Don’t worry, Charlotte, I haven’t run away. And I am quite prepared to return to London as soon as you are ready to leave.”

“No!” she said, shaking her head. “That is out of the question! I have no business in London.”

“Charlotte, my dear, I think your friend’s suggestion is very timely. It will be better for you to stay in London for a time and visit a physician. Miss Lambe has said she will accompany you.”

“But I do not need a physician, mama! I am perfectly well!” Charlotte protested. “Besides it is not for Georgiana to invite me. While she is living with Mr Parker, she …”

“Oh, that’s what this is about!” Georgiana said. Charlotte looked at her with large fearful eyes, no doubt scared that she would reveal what had transpired between her and Sidney.

Georgiana smiled and looked back at her mother. “My guardian can be a bit of an ogre, Mrs Heywood. Which is why I’m so fortunate to be living with my governess in a boarding house.”

Her eyes darted back to Otis to make sure he did not say anything and he nodded slowly, turning towards the window.

“Be that as it may,” Charlotte said. “I have no intention of going to London! I’m sorry you have had a wasted journey.”

Georgiana sighed and got up. “Charlotte Heywood, you know me well enough to know that I am quite determined when I want something. I have come here to take you to London and this coughing that I have witnessed makes me even more convinced I made the right decision. So either you come with me or I shall remain here and be forced to write to Mr Parker informing him of my whereabouts.”

Charlotte looked up at her in a panic and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from speaking. Georgiana felt a pang of guilt at the threat but it could not be helped. She had come there determined to resolve Charlotte’s situation and she intended to do just that.

“Miss Heywood,” the strange gentleman said. “May I speak with you in private for a moment?”

Georgiana frowned at the man’s suggestion but no one in her friend’s family seemed to find it odd. At length, Charlotte nodded and followed him out of the room.

What transpired next left Georgiana more than a little impressed. A few minutes into their private audience, Mr Gillingham, as she was informed the man was called, managed to convince Charlotte to go to London and even went as far as to promise to accompany them on the journey.

All of Charlotte’s family was exceedingly fond of the charming, good-looking gentleman, a fact that Georgiana couldn’t wait to reveal to Sidney. He would be less inclined to go on with his mad scheme of marrying the harpy if he knew just how close he was to losing Charlotte to another man.

As she waited outside the Heywood residence for her friend to emerge with her luggage, a smile bloomed on Georgiana’s face as her mind tried to contrive the best opportunities to invite Mr Gillingham to dinner at Betsford Place. She could just imagine Sidney flying into a jealous rage and proposing to Charlotte on the spot! Everything was working out so well!

“You shouldn’t have lied to her,” Otis said, approaching the carriage carefully.

Georgiana huffed, her smile fading suddenly. “You are hardly in a position to judge me for it.”

He dropped his head. “I only meant that Miss Heywood might feel embarrassed and betrayed once she finds out the true reason for your being here. And I don’t think you’ve considered how Mr Parker might react. He is not an easy man. To spring this on him without warning …”

“You’re right. Sidney is a difficult man. And also a cruel, prejudiced one. Isn’t that so?” She looked at him with as much hardness as she could muster, feeling the blood boiling in her veins.

His beautiful face twisted at her words. “I realized only recently,” she continued, “that as angry as I was with him, I never thought that until you suggested it.”

“I … I was upset that he had taken you from me. And afraid that he might convince you that I was not good enough for you.”

“So you thought to tell me that the man who held my entire future in his hands hated me because of the color of my skin.”

Otis closed his eyes, his lip trembling slightly. For a moment, Georgiana wanted to cast away her anger and go to him. Perhaps if he took her in his arms and spoke all those beautiful words he knew how to speak, everything between them would be as it used to.

Yet she remained still.

“When you finally answered my letters and asked me to come with you to fetch Miss Heywood, I thought you might have forgiven me …”

So had she. Georgiana had never known so much suffering as in the months after learning of Otis’ betrayal. Every waking moment, every breath felt like an open wound that festered unchecked. Being not only away from him but without the hope of ever being reunited had felt insufferable.

So when she returned to London to find the pile of letters in her room, little by little, every word, every entreatment had lulled her into believing the past did not matter. But now, as he was standing right beside her, the past seemed to be the only thing she could focus on.

“I’m trying to,” she said earnestly.

He nodded and stepped away, making Georgiana grit her teeth.

Just then, Mr Gillingham approached the carriage, putting his gloves on and preparing to mount the horse that had been brought by one of the servants.

“Thank you, Mr Gillingham,” Georgiana said. “I don’t know what you said to convince her but you have my gratitude.”

“Do not thank me yet,” he said, giving her a sharp smile. “The only way she would relent was if I promised we would deliver you to your guardian and then I would promptly bring her back. While I am certain she will be less inclined to want my company once in London, it is up to you to make her stay.”

“Have no care, sir. I can be very convincing when I want to be.”

“I hope you are, Miss Lambe,” he said, climbing onto his brindle mare. “Make sure she sees a physician as soon as possible. I fear the illness might have settled in her lungs.”

The thought made Georgiana hold her breath.

In the doorway, Charlotte emerged, surrounded by all her sisters and brothers. Georgiana went up to meet her just as she was embracing her oldest sister, Alison.

“Make sure you keep warm on the journey,” Alison said, closing the last button on Charlotte’s coat.

“There is no cause for concern,” Charlotte said. “I will only be gone for a few hours.”

Alison nodded and turned her gaze towards Georgiana. Her hair was darker than Charlotte’s but her hazel eyes were just as kind.

“I entrust her to you, Miss Lambe,” she said, taking her hand. “Please take care of her.”

Georgiana nodded solemnly. “She will be well, Alison. I promise to return her to you safe and sound.”

As she looked at her friend, Georgiana refused to entertain any other outcome. Charlotte had been weakened by her accident, of course, but she was strong. Between the curative treatments of the best physicians in London and the care of the man she loved, she would be restored to the happy, energetic girl she had known in Sanditon in no time at all.

***

Mr Gillingham’s house took pride of place as one of the largest and most admired homes on Grosvenor Street, the most fashionable of London addresses. Or so Otis assured them as the carriage had come into view of the house.

Charlotte did not find herself predisposed to liking the imposing edifice, with its added terrace of polished white stone and roman columns. It felt unusually large and intimidating. The sort of house one bought for acquaintances more than for oneself.

And her opinion did not improve once she and Georgiana were ushered inside. The large entryway boasted of no furnishings at all, only cold, white and black marble on the floors. As they were lead into the drawing room, the feeling of desolation became quite overbearing.

It was obvious that the house had not been in use for quite some time, although Charlotte counted more than 4 footmen that were busing themselves, lifting covers from atop chairs, while the maids were rushing to prepare a fire in the largest of no less than three fireplaces.

The crystal chandeliers above were partly covered so candle holders were brought in, while the curtains were pulled apart to let the late afternoon light in through the six arched windows overlooking the street.

As she and Georgiana walked towards the newly uncovered breakfast table, their footsteps echoed on the cold, polished floors making Charlotte acutely aware of her own presence.

“Thank you, Jenkins,” Mr Gillingham said, motioning towards the housekeeper that had brought the maids in. “Please prepare tea and sandwiches for the ladies.”

He walked through the impossibly large room perfectly at ease while Charlotte and Georgiana followed him.

“I have instructed one of the footmen to go directly to Betsfort Place and inform Mr Parker of your arrival, Miss Lambe.”

Charlotte’s stomach twisted into knots and her knees almost gave way. She stiffened her body and continued to walk, feeling the shivers run through her almost uncontrolled. Her breath came out hot, burning her lips and she prayed that the fever would subside so she might make it out of the ordeal with as much dignity as she could.

Above the fireplace, a large mirror stood partly uncovered and she stole a glance at herself before sitting at the table. It was not vanity that prompted it. Not really. She just did not want to appear disheveled or out of place. She ran her hand over her hair, tucking a strand that had escaped her tight bun behind her ear.

She did not look well, she knew. She had never been anything remarkable as to looks, as Mrs Denham had so eloquently remarked on her arrival in Sanditon, but she was so pale and drawn out now that whatever charm she might have had was gone.

More than an hour passed while they sat in silence, waiting. Charlotte could hardly eat anything and she took only a few sips of tea, while sharp pains lashed at her whenever a sound could be heard from outside.

To think that soon he would be standing in the same room as her … She could almost imagine his implacable gaze, his anger at having her there. The ubiquitous Miss Heywood, once again involved in matters that were not of her concern.

Thankfully at least Otis has made his departure as soon as they arrived at Mr Gillingham’s. Although not before he had made Georgiana promise to receive his letters.

She wondered if Sidney knew of it and she feared that he might not and that the association might again put her friend at risk. Perhaps she should talk with him when he arrived …

No! Whatever happened with Sidney Parker, whatever his decisions in regards to Georgiana’s welfare, those were no longer her concern. She had come there to make sure Georgiana would be safe and her duty would be discharged as soon as Mr Parker arrived. She would go back to Willingden where she belonged and that would be the end of that. 

When the knock on the door finally came, every nerve in her body was alerted. She knew it was him. She knew it from the way he had knocked and from the way his steps fell on the marble floor and the way the doors opened to allow him access. She almost broke the tea cup in her haste to put it on the table in order to grip the arms of the chair as tightly as she could.

As she braved a look, she found him standing in the middle of the room, a familiar scowl on his face. Her breath hitched as she found him staring at her, his eyes dark and wild, an unknowable expression on his face.

He was unchanged. The same handsome features that she had been fascinated by the moment she had seen his portrait. But there was an ugly gash above his right eye. A deep cut that had barely healed in hues of blue and purple.

It took all of her strength not to run to him. She wanted to caress his face and kiss his wound a thousand times. But she remained in place, withering under his blistering gaze. She did not dare imagine what he thought of her.

“Ah! Welcome, Parker!” Mr Gillingham said. “Come! Join us for tea.”

“What is the meaning of this, Andrew?” Sidney asked, his voice hard with rage.

Charlotte exchanged a look with Georgiana and it was she that spoke what both of them were wondering. “Do you two know each other?”

Mr Gillingham smiled apologetically as he looked at Charlotte. “Yes. We are old mates from our Cambridge days. Are we not, Sidney?”

It took a moment for the words to settle in but when they did, if the earth had opened up and swallowed her whole, Charlotte would have been nothing but grateful. After all that had transpired, after all the harsh lessons life had handed her, still she found herself here. Foolish, naïve Charlotte, once again a puppet to someone else’s design.

She stood up, unable to sit on Mr Gillingham’s chair one moment longer and she began walking towards the door.

“Let’s go, Georgiana,” Sidney said behind her but she did not turn back.

Her legs carried her through the entryway and outside into the street. It was already dark, a lamplighter making his way with his ladder, lighting up the street lamps, one by one.

To her horror, she became acutely aware she did not know where to go. She did not know how to reach the publich coach from where she was or even if it still left London so late into the day. The air was colder now and she shivered.

“I still don’t understand how Mr Gillingham came to be in Willingden,” she heard Georgiana say. “Did you tell him to go there?”

“No. I did not,” Sidney said, his voice strained.

“But …”

“Not now, Georgiana,” he instructed, going to the carriage that was waiting in front of the house and opening the door.

Georgiana walked to it and got in.

“Miss Heywood,” he said finally, looking at her. He tilted his head towards the door, signaling for her to get in, looking as inconvenienced as he had been when she had come to London, in search of Georgiana.

“There is no need to … I ….”

“You can go, Sidney,” Mr Gillingham said, coming to her side. “I will take Miss Heywood home.”

“You will take her? With no one to accompany her, after she was seen in your house, by all of your servants? That is out of the question!”

“Are you implying that I would ever …”

“Please!” Charlotte said, her anger growing at having them speak of her as if she wasn’t there. “There is no need for any of this. I can take rooms at a hotel and …”

“Charlotte, get in the carriage!”

Hearing him speak her Christian name put a stop to her protests as her eyes fixed on him. The anger that was raging in him was subsiding and gave way to something softer, something she could recognize. It warmed and comforted in her in a way she had not felt since leaving Sanditon.

His eyes pleaded with her even when his words would not. And what was the harm after all? The carriage would take her to the boarding house where Georgiana was residing and in the morning she would be gone. A far safer option than staying with Mr Gillingham.

Without thought, she went to him, taking his extended hand. It felt safe and steady against her palm, as if rooting her to the ground after an eternity of wandering. She looked at him for a moment, his gaze still holding her in warm reassurance as he helped into the carriage.

He leaned into the carriage and whispered to Georgiana: “Make sure she eats something.” He then stepped out again and instructed the coachmen: “To Betsfort Place.”

Before she even realized what was occuring, the door was already closed and she saw him turn around and head back towards Mr Gillingham, as she was carried off in the coach.

Her fists clenched into her skirts as her breathing became labored, her mind going over what he had said. He had looked at her and found her wanting, as she knew he would. He had always had an uncanny eye for spotting her faults and she had given him yet another opportunity to see her for the unworldly, simple farmer’s daughter she was. And now she would be forced to stay the night in his home, giving him even more reasons to think her reckless and foolish …

“Charlotte,” Georgiana said, shaking her. “Charlotte!”

Her attentions were finally drawn back to her friend who looked at her with growing concern. Anger and humiliation fought within Charlotte and she pushed at her friend’s hands. “You lied to me!”

“I knew you would not come if …”

“Why did you bring me here, Georgiana? Why?” she shouted, turning her back on her. 

***

She tossed and turned in bed, the shivers traveling up and down her body, despite the heavy bed cover and the raging fire. Her cheeks were burning and her mind was muddled, drifting between sleep and consciousness, her dreams fevered and frightening. She panted, feeling the pressure on her chest increasing and she began to cough.

She opened her eyes slowly.

The room was dark, except for the light of the fire. She listened intently for any noise coming from outside the room, but it was still and silent.

When she had arrived, she had been greeted by Arthur and Diana with the same enthusiasm she had received when first making their acquaintance. She feared they had thought her rude because she escaped their company as soon as her room was ready and she had refused to leave it ever since. Even when they had come, accompanied by Georgiana, to invite her for dinner, she had not opened the door, pretending to be asleep. She refused to give them any more reasons to feel sorry for her or risk running into Sidney.

As she became more conscious, she realized that she was parched, her throat tingling and making her cough more frequently. She sighed, licking her lips and feeling them dry. She considered for a moment remaining in bed and pulling the covers over her head but the thirst was too strong.

Slowly she pulled the covers off which caused another wave of shivers to wash over her like a thousand needles prickling at her skin. She braced herself against them as she got out of bed and headed for the small vanity table next to the fireplace. She picked up the pitcher to find it empty which could only mean that she would need to go downstairs to the kitchen for fresh water.

The thought had her groaning in frustration but as the fever wore at her defenses, making her mouth dry, her head pulsating with a dreadful headache, she found she had no choice.

The door opened with a low creak and she feared someone would hear. There was no movement however and she looked up and down the hallway to make sure there was no one there before stepping outside the room and heading for the stairs.

The floor felt cold under her naked feet as she made her way quickly down, stopping just short of the last few steps as she noticed the door to the drawing room opened.

She had come too far for prudence and she gripped the pitcher tighter, as she tried to run past the door.

“Charlotte?”

She froze into place, already admonishing herself for not staying in the room as she had initially wanted.

He was sitting on the armchair next to the fireplace, a large bottle of red liquor in front of him and a glass in one hand. The fire behind him cast shades of red and orange onto his face and hair, making his brown eyes tinted the color of brandywine. His full lips were slightly parted as he measured her from head to toe and she couldn’t help but stare at them like the foolish girl she was.

“I … I only came down to get some water. I beg your pardon …”

She turned to leave but his voice stopped her.

“Did he really save your life?”

For a moment she was taken aback by the blunt question wondering how he had found out before remembering that he had stayed behind to speak to Mr Gillingham. 

“Yes.”

He sighed in frustration and put his glass on the table. He got up and came to her, swaying on his feet. “Whatever possessed you to walk on the banks of a river, at night?” His words were slurred and she realized with fascination that he was drunk.

She knew she should leave or at least step back as he came so close to her that she could feel his breath falling on her face and yet she remained put, holding his gaze. “I needed exercise.”

His face seemed to light up at her response and he laughed. “Of course you did. How foolish of me to ask.”

His eyes softened again in that way that made her forget her anger and her fear. He put his hands on her shoulders, beginning to move them up and down her arms. “You could have died.”

“I am well,” she said, meaning it for the first time in months.

Her defenses broke as he continued to regard her, his beautiful face so kind and tender. All fear that he could ever find her wanting faded. Her hands tingled and she could not help herself any longer. She touched him, her fingers gently running over the cut on his brow. “What happened?”

“Nothing … A momentary lapse in judgment,” he said, leaning into her touch. “That is all.” His lips brushed against her palm and the contact made her skin burn.

“You should be more careful …”

He nodded and closed his eyes, sighing.

It must have made him dizzy because he stepped back, on unsteady legs almost bumping into the wall.

“You need to go to bed,” she said.

She didn’t quite know where she gathered the bravery for it but she took his arm and put it around her neck. She guided him towards the stairs, her arm wrapped around his waist, as she tried desperately to ignore what having him so close to her meant.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“I’m not the one who is drunk.”

“Yes … very good point … As always …”

At the top of the stairs, he leaned towards the right. “This way,” he said, pointing to the door at the end of the hallway.

He lost his footing, making them both crash into the wall, which inexplicably caused them to burst out laughing. He pressed himself into the door to his room and he stumbled inside, pulling her after him.

She landed pressed up against him as he steadied himself, his arms wrapping around her waist, as if by instinct.

Her palms rested on his chest and through his shirt, she could feel the beating of his heart. She was lost in his arms, breathing in the wood and smoke of his skin, basking in the undivided attention his gaze was lavishing on her.

“I should go …” she whispered, not moving at all.

“No …” he said, his voice hoarse. “Don’t leave me, Charlotte.”

Her breath hitched at his request and before she knew what she was doing, she lifted herself on her tip toes, to kiss him. Her lips brushed against his, feeling the soft flesh parting to meet her and she stopped, not quite knowing what to do next.

His arms wrapped tighter around her waist when she pulled back and a low groan escaped him as he pressed his lips flush against hers. She tasted him, her hands trembling with need as she grasped at his back, her fingers pulling at his vest.

Emboldened by his desire, she took her time to kiss his upper lip and the bottom one, revealing in the taste of red wine that lingered on them.

His hands moved up and down the sides of her, sending shivers through her body, until he cupped her breast, making her gasp.

As his fingers touched the yielding flesh, tracing circles lazily, a heat began to build deep in her belly and she rubbed against him, panting as she continued to kiss him, mindlessly, surrendering to whatever came next.

But just as she was abandoning the last shred of her sense, she felt his body stiffening. Moments later, his strong hands pushed her away from him, holding her at arm’s length.

She felt bereft and suddenly very cold. When she looked up, his face was like stone.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I cannot do this.”

She pulled away from his arms, staggering back, in a daze. She pressed her hand to her mouth, to stop herself from screaming. What was he doing to her? How could he be so cruel? She was a plaything to him, a game. Her love, her need for him … Just toys to be picked up and discarded at a moment’s whim.

She felt her breathing becoming labored and she panted, turning to head for the door.

“Please … Charlotte …”

“Don’t call me that!” she spat out, beginning to cough. “I may have few possessions in life, sir, but … my name is still mine to ...”

The coughing spasms took over and she couldn’t continue. They were worse than before, her stomach contracting painfully, wheezing between breaths, unable to stop. Her whole body began to shake and she leaned against the door.

In an instant he was next to her, his arm wrapping around her waist. She tried to push him away but he was too strong. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand. “My God, you’re burning up!”

“Leave me!” she said pushing at his chest as he picked her up and brought her to the bed.

He ignored her, as he pulled the blanket from underneath her and covered her with it. She buried her head into the pillow as another wave of coughing crashed over her.

“Here,” he said.

The bed dipped as he sat on the edge, a glass of water in hand. He pulled her head from the pillow and made her drink. She managed a few sips before she choked.

“Charlotte …” he said, caressing her face.

She pushed at his hand forcefully, managing to make him remove it. “Don’t call me that! Leave!” She turned away from him and closed her eyes, unable to bare his pity one moment longer. “Leave and never come back!”

For a moment all she could hear was his harsh breaths before the weight on the bed lifted. She bit her lip until she drew blood, forcing the tears back.

It felt like an eternity until she heard the door close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank everyone for reading part one and for your wonderful, supportive messages. they've really made my day!


	3. So We'll Go No More a Roving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following their kiss in Sidney's bedroom, Charlotte and Sidney keep their distance from each other. Until an improptuu visit to a friend's magnificent house party changes everything ...
> 
> I know I said there would be no update today. However I have decided to split the final chapter into 2 because it was far too long. So you're getting a new chapter after all. I hope you enjoy and thank you for your comments!  
> PS: word to the wise, this is very long (29 pages in Word to be exact) so grab some refreshments and some food. You're going to be here a while.

**Part 3**

**_So We'll Go No More a Roving_ **

**_By Lord Byron_ **

_So, we'll go no more a roving_

_So late into the night,_

_Though the heart be still as loving,_

_And the moon be still as bright._

“Breathe in,” the doctor instructed in a thick Northern accent, as he moved a small wooden implement across Charlotte’s back, his ear pressed to the opposing end. A stethoscope, he had called it. A new French invention apparently, that allowed for more precise auscultation. “And out.”

His clothes still clung to him, not having dried properly after riding through the rain in search of Dr Maufuss. He refused to change even when his brother and sister promised to sit with Charlotte. He couldn’t bear to leave her alone, though he knew there was nothing he could do but wait idly in the hallway for the doctor to finish his consultation.

Charlotte struggled to release the breath, twisting Sidney’s insides as she wheezed horribly and started coughing again. Her whole face strained under the exertion and her fingers grabbed fistfuls of the covers she was holding close to her chest until her knuckles turned white.

It took all of his strength to stand outside the half open door and not go inside and comfort her. But he remained put, reminding himself that she did not want him there.

 _Leave and never come back_ … Her angry voice, on the verge of tears, still wrecked through him. He cursed himself for allowing things to go as far as they had the night before and he cursed himself all the more for stopping it when he did.

His lips still burned from their unfinished kiss and his body yearned for the reprieve the natural continuation would have granted him. After all, if he had made her his, who could have objected to them marrying? Polite society would have demanded it. Eliza would have had to accept it. And Tom … Tom would have been beyond his power to help.

There would have been a scandal of course, but what was that to him? He had lived so many years abroad and his Charlotte dearly loved to travel. He could have taken her somewhere … Anywhere she would have wished …

As she looked up towards the door with her wide doe eyes, he remembered why he had stopped and he was filled with shame once more at even entertaining such notions. Charlotte was too good and far too precious to him to deprive her of the approbation of all she held dear because of his failings.

“How is she feeling?” Georgiana said, approaching cautiously.

She was tired, still wrapped up in her dressing gown and shawl for having stayed up all night. He knew he should be more understanding but all he could feel was anger. “How do you think, Georgiana?”

When she did not answer, he couldn’t help but press on, raising his voice. “Do you not see what your carelessness has caused?”

“Steady on, Sidney,” Arthur said, coming up the stairs, at a snail like pace. “Miss Lambe meant no harm.”

“What did she mean then?” he asked as he stared her down. “Whatever possessed you to bring her here?”

He did not realize how loudly he was speaking until he heard Dr Maufuss clearing his throat next to the door. He could see Charlotte looking at him for a mere moment, a wounded expression in her eyes, before the door was closed in his face.

He grit his teeth as he stared at the door knob, attempting to regain his composure and not burst into the room.

There were not many things in his life that he was proud of and even fewer that he truly cherished, but his love for Charlotte had always been honest and true. And yet all he managed to give her was misery and sickness.

He leaned into the wall for support, but it only seemed to close in on him. Unable to remain still any longer, he turned and grabbed his ward by the arm, leading her to the parlor down the hallway, attempting to put distance between himself and Charlotte.

“She could have died last night, Georgiana,” he said in a broken voice, as soon as they were in the room. _She could die still …_

“I would never hurt Charlotte!” Georgiana said, bursting into tears. “I only wanted to …”

“To vex Mrs Campion!” he raged. “And to torment me!”

“Sidney, that is ungenerous!” Arthur said, coming in and heading straight for Georgiana. He handed her his handkerchief and wrapped his arm around her. “We all understand how you must be feeling but …”

“Do you, Arthur?” he said, hands on hips, walking up and down the length of the room like a lion in a cage. “You haven’t the faintest idea.”

Arthur regarded him with the same placid, smiling face he reserved for everyone and it only caused him to grow angrier. “Consider, brother, that Miss Heywood will have a far better chance of recovery here in London than she would in Willingden,” he said. “From what I heard of the place, it has a shocking lack of medical professionals. To be frank, that Miss Heywood has withstood twenty-two winters without the assistance of a curative personage is astounding. Diana and I would have been done for.”

Sidney banged his fists against the window sill, unable to bare Arthur’s nonsense any longer. “If something were to happen to her, Arthur …”

“Now, now,” Arthur said, coming closer to him and putting his hand on his shoulder. “There’s no reason for such talk. Miss Heywood’s indomitable constitution was the first thing I noticed about her. Did I tell you she hardly felt a chill while standing in the howling gales of the Sanditon cliffs? Quite remarkable, don’t you think?”

Sidney gave out a small, tortured laugh, remembering the damn cliffs again. He had come as close to happiness on those cliffs as he ever could when he kissed her. And he had felt the bitter sting of misery when he let her go on them as well. But … at no point did Charlotte ever complain of a chill. Which, under the circumstance, could be considered a blessing, he supposed.

“Thank you, Arthur,” he said, unable to fight his brother’s perpetual optimism any longer.

He turned towards Georgiana who was sitting to the side, abnormally subdued. She clung to her shawl, tears still streaming down her face.

As was always the case between him and his ward, he once more regretted his behavior one moment later than would have been appropriate. “Forgive me. I know you care for her.”

She shook her head. “I only meant to help …”

“There’s nothing you can do, Georgiana,” he said, bitterly. “This mess is of my own making and there’s no undoing it now.”

“Come now,” Arthur said, guiding him towards a chair. “Let me go ask for some tea and sandwiches. I have always found it much harder to be cast down on a full stomach.”

Just as he was getting ready to sit down, Dr Maufuss came into the room. Sidney pushed the chair away and approached him immediately. “How is she?”

The tall, thin man seemed to hunch over as he pondered his response, his thin lips tightening into a grim line. “The illness has settled in her lungs,” he said, making Georgiana gasp. “I believe the fever attacks have been coming and going for at least two weeks now. They have left her very weakened.”

His whole body seemed to twitch under the exertion of control but his mind raced, desperate to cling to any shred of hope he could find. “What can be done? Should we take her somewhere? To Bath or …”

“No, no! It is absolutely essential that she not be exposed to the elements. She has expressed a wish to leave as well, but I must insist against it, Mr Parker.”

“She said she wanted to leave?”

What did he expect? Charlotte was proud and stubborn. She’d be perfectly willing to risk her own health just to be away from him. “She will not leave this house until she is recovered. You have my word, doctor.”

Dr Maufuss nodded. “Very good. She requires absolute bed rest and a fire to be lit in her room throughout the day. You can place a hot block of salt wrapped in cloth on her chest if she should have trouble breathing and apply vinegar soaked socks when she is stricken with fever. Hot baths with salt and eucalyptus steam inhalations should be performed daily.”

“Oh, rest assured, doctor,” Arthur intervened. “We will be scrupulous in our applications of the water and steam baths. Their restorative powers are nothing short of miraculous as my near death experience last year can attest.”

“Yes, Mr Parker,” the doctor said. “I am all too familiar with your medical history. In any case I will visit Miss Heywood every day to see the progress and have left her a coughing syrup of my own making that must be taken no less than three times a day, 12 drops at a time.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Sidney said, shaking the man’s hand. “Georgiana, would you mind seeing the doctor out? I have something I need to discuss with Arthur.”

For once Georgiana made no protests and, to his great relief, lead the doctor out of the room.

Once they were alone. Sidney turned to his brother. “While Miss Heywood is to live here, I will move to the club. Tell her I am away on business.”

Arthur looked at him with questioning eyes and his smile slowly faded. “You fear she would refuse to stay if you were forced to share a roof?”

He had not expected for his motives to be so transparent to the younger brother he had always found so peculiar, but if he was to be honest with himself, despite appearances to the contrary, Arthur was perhaps the only Parker who could boast of true sense. “I am entrusting her to your care,” he said.

Arthur sighed and shook his head. “This isn’t right … You should be here with her,” he said. “We all want to help Tom, of course. But not like this. There must be another way.”

“There isn’t,” he said, finding no more reasons to pretend. “Believe me, I looked for some way I could both stave off Tom’s creditors and ensure my own happiness every waking hour. I begged anyone that I could think of to loan me the money. Eliza was the only one that agreed. Her promise to marry me is the only thing keeping Tom out of debtors’ prison.”

“Sidney …”

“Arthur, if you want to help me, take care of her!” His voice cracked and he had to draw a few breaths before continuing. “There are no words that can convey … She is everything to me, brother. My only comfort is that I know she will find far better than the likes of me. But for that she needs to get better.”

He did not know what had spurred his confession, but the effect on his younger brother was immediate. His lively eyes turned still and resolute and he straightened his posture, his hands going around his considerable belly. “You will not lose her, Sidney,” he said solemnly. “I will apply myself fully to her recovery.”

Sidney sighed with relief and bowed his head in gratitude. “You are a good man, Arthur.”

Moments later, as he headed for the stairs, he couldn’t help but stop in front of Charlotte‘s door.

Standing in the dark, empty hallway, it felt as if a great chasm had taken root between them. Worse than on the cliffs when she could still find it in her to think well of him.

The Charlotte that lay in his own bed now wanted nothing to do with him. All he could do was remove himself from her presence and pray that someday he would find a way to make peace with what he had done. 

***

There was restlessness in the amphitheater as the stage remained empty. Towering over the whole room, a banner of a chained black man fluttered, making the kneeling figure seem as if it was trembling.

From the balcony where women were allowed to stand, she could see a sea of heads below. Some were dressed in the same expensive clothes made by the same expensive London tailors that dressed her. And yet she realized with astonishment that this was the first time since she had left Antigua that she was surrounded almost entirely of people that looked like her. What white men were in the audience seemed to stand out in a way white people were never truly forced to. They didn’t seem to notice it, perhaps because no one was staring at them or gasping as they walked by.

Suddenly she heard the clanking of chains and instinctively she turned towards the sound. Otis was taking his place behind the stand. He carried in his hand a chain of thick steel loops that sent a shiver down her back. She had seen those chains her entire childhood.

“Am I not a man and a brother?” Otis said, his voice echoing through the room as he banged the chains on the stand. “Am I not a man and a brother?”

The room fell silent as all those in attendance turned their attention towards him. He stood firm and looked pleased as the hundred or so people fell silent and waited for him to speak.

She couldn’t help but be charmed by his confidence. It had been one of the first things she had come to love about him. His ease of conversation, his ability to command attention in any situation. He seemed completely in his element on that stage as if there was not a doubt in his mind that he would be listened to.

“The banner that hangs behind me,” he said, pointing to it, “asks a simple question: Am I not a man and a brother? Far too many of our brothers and sisters continue to ask this question and never receive an answer. But what constitutes a man? And who decides if one creature is worthy of the title or not?”

The chains banged against the stand once again. “The slave masters of the West Indies tell us that they have given us freedom with the signing of the Slave Trade Act. They now no longer see the people of Africa as cargo to be shipped across the seas to fuel their plantations. Those men, they say, are men. But what of those who live in bondage still?”

He paused and let his words echo through the room, settling in the minds of his audience. For a moment, Georgiana was reminded of her father. He had always been of the opinion that such things should be left to a man’s conscience which is why on his death bed he had freed his slaves thus serving what he called his duty. She wondered what he would say if he knew she was attending a meeting of the _radicals._

The memory brought with it bitterness. Her father’s death had been a prolonged affair. He wasted away day by day until he couldn’t even take one tablespoon of water. She had wanted to comfort him through it all, but she had spent most of that time hidden away in her chambers.

She dreaded going into his sick room, the stench of death lingering over the frail body. Everyone in attendance was always watching her, expecting the signs of grief to overcome her. In time she became good at pretending she felt the pain a daughter owed her father, which made her feel all the more despicable.

“It might suit the plantation owner to believe the slaves working his fields, cooking his food, raising his children are not men. It might even gratify him when, out of the kindness of his heart, he chooses to free them from their toil. But he cannot make this slave a human being,” he said, pointing to the banner behind him again, “because he is and always has been a man and a brother!” His words seemed to reverberate through the room, causing people to shout their approval or cheer.

Georgiana gripped the bannister, as she became transfixed by this side of him she had always imagined was there but had never seen acted out. He was breathing heavily, his brow frowned in determination as he banged the chains against the stand again.

“To my forgotten brothers and sisters I say: You are descendants of a mighty and proud people. You have endured a harrowing journey across the vast oceans of the world and you have prevailed. You have struggled under the yoke of oppression for far too long. You have seen your children chained and your lives stolen from you. Yet, even so, you continue to prevail.”

His voice rose and rose as the clanging of the chains increased and the voices of the audience joined him in agreement. Georgiana’s heart beat out of her chest and tears stung her eyes.

“The day will come when your toil will be over. When you will cast away your chains and nevermore kneel in front of your fellow man. Until that day comes, brothers and sisters, I swear to you we will not stop. We will not stop until every last one of you is free. And in that …we will prevail!”

He ended his speech, letting the chain fall to the floor as everyone in attendance jumped to their feet to applaud him.

Georgiana clapped as hard as she could, unable to help smiling from ear to ear.

Otis was smiling too, and just as she thought he was going to turn around and leave the stage, he looked up to the balcony. His eyes wandered for a moment until he fixed on her. His smile only grew wider and he bowed his head.

Her heart became so arrested by his gaze that even, a quarter of an hour later, as she exited the building, it still lingered in her mind. _We will prevail_ … _We will prevail_ …

It was a chilly late November day and it was raining. She had neglected taking an umbrella and she found herself on the steps of the amphitheater with nothing but her bonnet and woolen pelisse for protection. As the carriage could not enter through the narrow passageway leading to the building, she was stuck having to run down the street through the pouring rain.

Just as she prepared to brave the wet journey, someone grabbed her arm.

She turned around quickly, determined to pull her arm free only to be met with Otis holding an umbrella.

He let go of her arm immediately and leaned the umbrella in order to shield her from the rain. “Would you allow me to walk you to your carriage?”

She drew a sharp breath and nodded, not quite trusting her own voice.

They walked down the cobbled street at a slow pace, while people around them scrambled left and right. Instinctively, Georgiana, wrapped her arm around his.

“I …I …,” he said, having lost all his eloquence. “I am so happy that you came. I didn’t think you would …”

“Neither did I,” she admitted, enjoying how the course material of his coat felt under her fingers.

It had been a spur of the moment decision, taken over breakfast. Her mind had been going back and forth since she had received his note the night before. But sitting by Charlotte's bedside, she was reminded of how little time she had left before her world would be altered once more. So she had instructed her maid to say she was going back to her room to rest, grabbed her bonnet and made a run for it, before anyone in the house was alerted to her missing.

“What convinced you?”

“I don’t know … I supposed I spent so much of my time trying to fit into my father’s world that I’ve forgotten about my mother’s,” she found herself saying.

She expected Otis to ask her how that had influenced her decision but instead he nodded, as if no explanation was needed. “How old were you when she died?”

“Seven …” Georgiana stopped and bit her lip, as she always did when discussing her mother. She found it difficult to remember what she looked like. Her father had destroyed all of the paintings of her after her death, unable to stand the grief.

She did know she was beautiful. _The price,_ the house slaves had called it when they thought she wasn’t listening.

It was her mother’s beauty that had taken her out of slavery and had spared Georgiana the same fate. It felt unfair that she should not remember it.

“I liked what you said about us descending from a mighty and proud people,” she said. “My mother used to tell me that. At night, before I fell asleep, when my father couldn’t hear, she used to tell me the story of Prince Klaas, of how he bravely stood up to the plantation owners and how I was the last of his bloodline.”

“I can well believe that.”

“It was only after she died that I realized the fairytale prince I had fantasized about for so long was broken on the wheel for his bravery, each bone in his body shattered while he still drew breath.”

She could feel his body tense up and his face twisted with anger. “One day stories like this one will be confined to the history books and people will look at such men as the heroes that they were.”

“Do you truly believe that?” she said, stopping just as they came out of the passageway.

“Yes. It might be hard to imagine it now, but that day will come. I am certain of it.”

“And you mean to dedicate your life to seeing it so?”

He nodded. “For whatever it’s worth, yes …”

She smiled, his earnestness managing to touch her in a way nothing else had since learning of his betrayal. He was so close to her now she could feel his hot breath falling over her face and it all become rather overwhelming. Her heart beat out of control and there was no way to rein it in.

“Georgiana …,” he said, grabbing her arm again. “I …” He opened his mouth to speak, dropped his head and thought better of it. “How … how is Miss Heywood?” he finally managed to ask.

Her heart sunk with disappointment at the question. “She is better, I think. The doctor will tell us for certain in a few days.”

“I’m glad. She’s a good person … a good friend …”

“She is.”

He looked towards the carriage, sadness etched on his beautiful face. “I should let you go ….”

Georgiana realized in that moment that the last thing she could ever want was for Otis to let her go. She didn’t know how she was going to resolve matters, but somehow she would make sure that she never left his side.

She had been filled with doubt concerning her abilities since her abysmal failure where Charlotte and Sidney were concerned, but she refused to give up hope. 

“You shouldn’t,” she told him.

Before he could say anything or question her, she pulled him by the lapels and kissed him. He hurried to embrace her, letting go of the umbrella in the process.

Not even as she felt the rain soak her to the bone would she part from him.

***

_“My dear Allie,_

_I was quite astonished to receive your letter and realize that more than two weeks have passed since the last time I wrote. Life in London is so diverting it seems to be moving at a much faster pace than back home. Georgiana and I are engaged from morning to evening in visits, luncheons and parties …”_

The quill pen trembled in Charlotte’s hand and she stopped, leaning back into the chair and wrapping the dressing gown tighter around herself. She could still feel a slight chill, despite the roaring fire in the room and the thick night gown she had on.

She dropped the pen and stared out the window trying to summon the courage to continue the letter. She bit her lip, attempting to think of things she could have reasonably been doing since writing to Alison last.

Oh, if only Georgiana was there! She was so good at lying. Charlotte, on the other hand, found that every false word on the page seemed to scream her guilt back at her.

She took a deep breath, relieved when she could do so without strain or effort and she consoled herself that she would not have to keep up the pretense much longer. She was getting better every day.

She stood up and leaned over the desk to gaze outside the window. The bedroom overlooked the inner garden and it had become a ritual for her to stare at it, through the long hours spent inside.

It wasn’t big by any means, but it was very pretty with blue stone steppers and ivy climbing over the walls. In the middle there was a fountain presided over by a Grecian maiden with a jug in her hand from which the water sprung placidly. A gazebo was placed near the fence and she longed to sit there, with a book in hand.

She was jolted from her reverie by a knock on the door. As she realized that it must be past 11 in the morning, she quickly placed the letter in the drawer and stood up from the desk.

“Come in.”

As she watched Arthur ushering in Diana, who was holding the hot steaming pot of water and eucalyptus oils, she couldn’t help but smile. Armies might have been regimented with less decisiveness or precision.

“How is the invalid this morning?” he asked, smiling brightly as he always did.

“Not an invalid any longer, Mr Parker. Thanks to you both.”

The Parkers had undertaken her care with such dedication and resolve that Charlotte struggled to think of how she could ever repay them. She had been so afraid of being a burden to them, but they seemed delighted to tend to every cough or feverish brow. She supposed their peculiar inclination for all things medical and sickly might have something to do with it, but whatever the case might have been they had been exceedingly kind.

“I admire your fortitude, dear Miss Heywood,” he said. “But let us not hasten matters. Please take a seat.” He pulled one of the chairs from the tea table placed next to the fireplace.

She took a deep breath, already dreading what was to come and sat down.

“Indeed, brother,” Diana said, placing the bowl of steaming water on the table in front of her. She looked her up and down and put her hand on her forehead. “No fever today! That’s a good sign, is it not? No affliction of the nerves, I hope?”

“No fever today or last night,” Charlotte said proudly, taking the towel that Diana handed her. “And I am still very much in control of my nerves.”

She looked at the water bowl for a moment and sighed deeply, before putting the towel over her head and perching over, as close to it as she could stand. The steam hit her immediately making her wince.

She felt the drops falling into the water and she braced herself as the powerful odor of eucalyptus hit her, burning her nostrils as she began to breathe through her nose.

“In and out, Miss Heywood,” Arthur instructed. She heard his boots pacing up and down the length of the room and the ticking of his pocket watch. 

She concentrated on the sound as the hot air engulfed her, burning her cheeks and causing her to perspire profusely. Her back and neck began to ache from the strain of her position, but she determined to withstand it. However horrible the steam baths were and however reluctant she had been to trying them, Charlotte had to admit to them being very effective. She took solace from the thought that if her stethoscope auscultation proved satisfactory that day, she would finally be allowed to leave her room.

She knew she was not the only one who was eagerly waiting Dr Maufuss’ visit. Arthur and Diana had built an entire ritual around them, that almost inevitably ended with them getting their own consultations for various goiters and cancers that had afflicted them over night.

As minutes passed, she grew restless, the pain in her neck and back becoming unbearable. “How much longer, Mr Parker?” she asked, her voice strained.

“A few more minutes, Miss Heywood”

“It stings …,” she protested, unable to keep her eyes open because of the powerful fragrance.

“Courage, Miss Heywood!” she heard Diana say before she put a few more drops of oil in the water.

“When this is all over,” she muttered more to herself than anyone else, “I’ll spend all day and all evening in the garden.”

“No, no! Not in the evening, Miss Heywood. I must insist on that,” Diana said. “The evening air might prove fatal.”

Charlotte lifted her head, pulling the towel off of her face. She was hit by the cool air immediately and she panted in relief. “Late afternoon then?”

“Very well,” Diana said, smiling. “Late afternoon at the very most.” 

“Five more minutes, Miss Heywood,” Arthur reminded her.

With a deep sigh, Charlotte pulled the towel over her head and began inhaling and exhaling again.

By the time Dr Maufuss arrived, the entire room looked and felt more like the hot springs of Bath than a reasonable Londoner’s residence. But it was all worth it in the end. He had declared her fully recovered, though he insisted on her continuing to eat the bone broth for at least two more weeks and showing restraint in outdoor activities until the winter had passed.

Charlotte would gladly eat the terrible broth for as long as the doctor deemed it necessary. As to the outdoor activities, however, she could make no such promises. As soon as he had left, she had gotten dressed and ran straight to the garden, book in hand.

She was still holding the well-thumbed copy of Heraclitus close to her chest, but she had not managed to sit down and read even a page of it. Instead, she found herself walking circles around the fountain, sitting on the edge for a moment only to jump to her feet and begin walking again, enjoying the unusually mild and sunny weather.

“Charlotte, you’ll make yourself dizzy!” Georgiana said, from her seat in the gazebo.

“I cannot help it! I’ve been stuck inside for far too long!”

“I know, but come and take some tea before it gets cold.” She was already pouring the hot liquid into a cup before she had even finished speaking. “Charlotte, come! You need to help me do battle with this correspondence.” She lifted up a stack of notes and calling cards, looking quite desperate.

Charlotte shook her head, admitting defeat and dragging her feet to the gazebo, sinking into one of the comfortable cushioned chairs. She picked up her cup of tea and began blowing on it, as Georgiana raced through the invitations

“Oh, another invitation to luncheon from Mrs Jennings …” She put the letter back at the bottom of the pile. “We best lose that lest we plan on being talked at to death. I have a sneaking suspicion that’s how Mr Jennings met his demise.” One more flick through and her eyes rolled. “Ah! And the Bingley sisters are back in London. Must remember to be busy when they call.”

She was more than a little impressed at Georgiana’s dexterity to reject the society of so many in such a short span of time. When her eyes finally lingered on a particular invitation, Charlotte’s interest was piqued.

“This is interesting … I think this is for you, Charlotte,” she said, handing her a calling card.

It was an austere little white note, with black cursive letters on it, in a sharp but elegant style: Andrew Gillingham – Grosvenor Street.

She drew a sharp breath and handed Georgiana the card back. “Best lose this one as well.”

“What do you think he wants?” Georgiana said, taking the card and staring at it as if expecting it to answer.

“I don’t know.” Charlotte shrugged, her eyes returning to the garden.

There wasn’t much green left given the time of year, but she remembered what it looked like when she had been there in early summer. There was native violet and kidney weed to provide a simple foil for abundant greenery between the bluestone steppers. Large ferns and mother-in-laws tongue carpeted the trail towards the house, mixing in a zig zag pattern. They had been left to grow a bit wild and fraying around the edges. Near the wall, a couple of magnolia trees provided shade and the most incredible pink flowers when in bloom.

She had always loved her garden back home and she could see herself tending to this one, cleaning up the weeds, bringing new plants to add color. “I could plant jasmines all around the fountain,” she said. “They’d give off the most beautiful scent ....”

Suddenly she realized she had spoken out loud and her cheeks burned red under Georgiana’s gaze. “I … I meant whoever tends to the garden should plant jasmines. They are the prettiest flowers; don’t you find?”

“Charlotte …” Georgiana said. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” Her dark eyes were filled with the same terrifying pity she had received from Alison.

“I’m not pretending, Georgiana! I simply expressed myself badly.”

She grabbed the book she had abandoned on the table and opened it haphazardly, her eyes moving over the pages without actually reading.

“You are pretending! I know perfectly well you are in love with Sidney and his engagement with Eliza Campion is making you dreadfully upset. Everyone knows it.”

Georgiana’s words cut through her so thoroughly, she was left unable to speak or even move. Her hands gripped the book tighter and she grit her teeth, trying to stop herself from panting. _Everyone_ … Is that why Arthur and Diana had been so kind to her? Did they feel sorry for her? The poor farmer’s daughter who was jilted in favor of a more alluring prospect?

“You mustn’t lose hope,” Georgiana said, grabbing her hand and forcing Charlotte to look at her. “There is a way out of this. I am certain.”

Charlotte pulled her hand out of her grip and pressed it tightly in her lap, forcing her face to remain still. “There is no hope to be had, Georgiana. Truly! You are mistaken about my feelings. I have none for Mr Parker and he certainly doesn’t have any for me.”

Georgiana frowned and shook her head. “If you wish to pretend you don’t love him, I can’t blame you. It must be hard admitting to loving such an ogre. But he does love you, Charlotte. It’s one of his only good qualities.”

“Georgiana, please stop,” Charlotte whispered, dropping her head. “I know for certain that he does not.”

“What do you mean?”

Her treacherous mind couldn’t help but remind her of his hands pushing her away, of the cold way in which he had regarded her as if she had fallen in his estimation even further than she had before.

“I heard your argument,” she said, biting her lip. “The morning Mr Parker left. He reprimanded you for bringing me here.”

Georgiana’s eyes widened in surprise. “Charlotte, no …”

“He was right. You never should have come to Willingden.”

“You are wrong! We did argue, it’s true and he was angry, but not because of that.”

“I heard him, Georgiana! I heard him say: Whatever possessed you to bring her here?”

“He was scared. Terrified that something might happen to you. He was angry because he thought I had put you in danger.”

Georgiana’s reply put an end to her protests. She kept her eyes fixed on her book, but found herself hanging on every word her friend spoke.

“You should have seen him, Charlotte. He was beside himself. Do you know that he rode across town and dragged Dr Maufuss out of bed to tend to you? It was pouring rain and he was soaked by the time he got back home but he refused to change, or sleep or eat. He just stood outside your door for hours …”

Despite herself, she wanted to believe Georgiana. She wanted to believe that Sidney cared for her. That all the rest was a misunderstanding or cruel game of fate. But if that was the case, why was he not there? Why had he left?

Arthur had told her Sidney had gone on necessary business, but he was no more a liar than she was. No, he had left to put distance between the two of them and the thought that she had so freely given him reason to do so when she had kissed him, tormented her.

No! She could not allow Georgiana to make her doubt what his own behavior so plainly told her. Doubt was what had caused her outburst in his room in the first place. She needed to accept that whatever feelings Sidney Parker might have had for her were long gone.

She did not doubt he had gone to fetch the doctor and even worried for her health. He was, after all, a kind and caring man. He would not want her to suffer and he must feel responsible that she fell ill under his own roof. _In his own bed …_

She chased the thought away and smiled as broadly as her addled state would permit. “I’m glad Mr Parker has risen in your estimation, Georgiana. There was a time when you wouldn’t have spoken so kindly of him as I remember.”

Georgiana shrugged. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say he’s risen in my estimation, but I suppose I find him slightly more tolerable for love of you.”

“You must thank him for me. I’m afraid I will not be here when he returns.”

“What?” Georgiana, asked, her voice rising with panic.

She stood up with newly found resolve, folding her arms around her book. “I cannot abuse Mr Parker’s hospitality any longer. I am now well and you are safely returned home. There is no reason for me to remain in London.”

“Have you not been listening to a word I said? There is every reason for you to stay! You can’t let that harpy chase you away!”

“Georgiana, if we are to remain friends,” she said, tightening her grip on the book, “you must promise me not to mention this subject again.”

“Charlotte … I know what you’re feeling. I’ve been through it. But you cannot give up! Trust me. Somehow, all of this will be over soon and you and Sidney …”

“I mean it, Georgiana! Promise me!”

She averted her eyes for fear of revealing too much as she waited for a reply.

“Alight,” Georgiana finally said, sighing “Alright … I promise.”

Charlotte looked at her friend and knew that even as she promised, she would not relent. The only way to put an end to this was for her to leave London as soon as possible.

***

_“My dear Allie._

_The most unexpected news came today. Lord and Lady Babington are holding a hunting party at their South Yorkshire estate. The activities will take the Parkers and Georgiana away from London for at least a fortnight._

_Tom and Mary Parker have joined us as they will be journeying with the rest of the party at the end of the week. It’s been such a joy to see the children again. I believe Henry is at least two inches taller since the summer and Jenny and Alice are growing cleverer with each passing day._

_As the engagement will be of some duration and will take the entire family out of town, I will be returning home early which, I have to confess, I look forward to immensely._

_As much as I will miss the kindness and company of all the Parkers and Georgiana, I cannot wait to be back in Willingden again, with all of you.”_

“Charlotte, please reconsider and come with us. We would love to have you,” Mary said. “Lady Denham and Lady Babington expressly charged me with bringing you.”

“I’m afraid I cannot, Mary,” she said, calmly. “My family can’t spare me any longer.”

After a lively dinner where they were entertained by Alicia and Jenny acting out the nativity scene with a very reluctant Henry as a slightly bigger Jesus than traditionally depicted, the children were put to bed and the rest of the party retired to the drawing room for a game of cards.

Being none the wiser about playing gin, Charlotte cautiously kept Tom company at the console table where he had unveiled the new and improved plans for Sanditon. Mr Stringer’s talent and effort was evident in the completed sketches. He had gone back and added the Nash inspired pagoda she had admired back in the summer. It was the perfect focal point for the sea front. In keeping with the new design, he had also added more façade decorations to the assembly rooms and new terrace apartments.

She smiled sadly, as she looked at the neatly arranged rows of buildings, with its tidy squares populated by fine looking ladies and gentlemen. In the background the sea seemed to stretch endlessly, with the green, high cliffs towering over all of them.

“I could write to them, if you like,” Mary insisted. “Promise to return you home as soon as the stay at Wentworth would be over?”

“It’s no use, Mary,” Arthur said, picking a card from the deck and shuffling it in her hands. “Diana and I have been trying to convince her all afternoon. She will not be moved.”

“No, I will not,” Charlotte said before returning her attentions back at the plans. “So there will be four squares between the sea front and terrace apartments?”

“Precisely!” Tom said excitedly. “I spent the better part of a week focusing solely on the plans for the streets leading down to the squares. What do you think of the pagoda? Ingenious, is it not?”

Charlotte looked at him for a moment to see if he felt the need to add anything about Mr Stringer, but Tom’s excited face seemed prepared only for praise. “Yes, very ingenious indeed,” she said, turning her attentions back to the plans

“I was forced to remove it from the designs in the summer to my great disappointment, but with Mrs Campion’s aid, I think we will make of Sanditon the envy of Europe.”

The mention of the name sent a sharp pain through Charlotte’s belly and for a moment, just one moment, she allowed herself to hate Tom Parker. His sketches, the excitement in his voice, all reminded her once again of her own unsuitability. Unlike Mrs Campion, she was of no use to Sanditon or Tom and as such she had been discarded.

“Charlotte, come advise me on this hand,” Georgiana said. “Arthur seems determined to vanquish us.”

“I cannot help it, Miss Lambe!” Arthur said, downing his glass of Madeira in one quick movement of the head. “These cards compel me to victory!”

Charlotte made her excuses to Tom and headed towards the cards table, grateful for the escape Georgiana had offered. As soon as she reached her, her friend took her hand and squeezed it.

“There must be a way to convince you, Miss Heywood,” Arthur said, as he rapidly shuffled the cards in his hands and picked another one from the deck. “If for no other reason, think of the pies. There will be fresh pheasant pies! How could you resist it?”

“Are you a hunting enthusiast then, Mr Parker?” Charlotte said, hoping desperately to change the subject.

“Oh, heaven’s no!” Arthur said, smiling broadly. “With my aversion to dampness and mud, venturing into the wild would not be wise. But nothing can truly compare to a hunting party picnic, Miss Heywood! The hot chocolate, the cakes! Do you not think so?”

“Best not insist, Arthur,” Tom said, abandoning his plans and coming to sit next to his brother. “Miss Heywood mustn’t feel pressured into coming.”

“Please stay out of this, Tom,” Mary replied. “You’ve done quite enough.”

“My dear, I was only saying that …”

“Whatever you have to say is of no interest to anyone here.”

Her tone of voice had everyone turn to look at them and she did nothing to hide her displeasure. She looked at her husband with a hard look before turning her attentions towards the game again.

The silence was drawn out, as the players took turns in taking cards from the deck, while Tom, still visibly shaken, slowly stepped away from the table and went to the other side of the room, where the fireplace was.

“Gin, damn it!” Arthur screamed excitedly, breaking the silence. He slammed the cards on the table, almost spilling his drink over Georgiana’s dress.

As she retired for the night, Charlotte couldn’t help but wonder why no one at the table said anything about what had transpired between Mary and Tom. She had sensed it since they had first arrived, but it wasn’t until that night that she realized the extent of it.

She felt guilty at having been the cause of any disagreement between the two of them and as she changed into her nightgown and washed her face, she reprimanded herself for not having left London sooner.

She could have insisted on it after the doctor had given her permission to leave her room or went herself to the public coach as soon as she was able.

But she had not … As she looked at the shaving kit placed neatly on the vanity table, she realized she had stayed because she could not bear to part from Sidney yet again. Her hands lightly traced the leather pouch where his toiletries were kept before looking up into the same mirror he must have used to get ready in the morning.

It had a large mahogany frame, matching the rest of the furniture. There were no excessive adornments or ostentatious marble busts like at Trafalgar’s square. The room felt comfortable and warm, just like him.

She could hardly admit it to herself, but on the second night she had spent there, she had realized he slept on the right side of the bed when she had smelt his scent on the pillow. Since that night, she had fallen asleep holding it.

She knew she would soon have to part with even this bit of him that was left to her, but for now she could not help but go and open his closet again. His shirts lined the top three shelves and she took one out.

She traced his initials stitched in black thread on the inside of the collar before putting it on. She would allow herself this one last, silly indulgence and then she would let him go.

Just as she reached the bed and prepared to blow out the candle, there was a knock on the door.

“Charlotte?” Georgiana called out. “Are you still awake?”

She scrambled to the take the shirt off. “Yes …Just one moment …” She ran around for a few moments, looking for the quickest way of riding herself of the evidence of her own weakness.

Her clothing chest was the closest thing to her, as it was placed at the foot of the bed and she discarded the shirt inside and firmly closed the lid before running to the door and opening it.

“Are you alright?” Georgiana said, walking inside. “You looked flushed.”

“I … I’m fine. Just overheated from the fire.” Charlotte smoothed out her hair and tried to stop herself from panting. “What’s the matter?”

“I was wondering if you were still upset with me?”

“What?” Charlotte took her hands and led her to the bed. “Of course not.”

“I thought maybe you were,” Georgiana said, looking more contrite than she had ever seen her before. “And that’s why you didn’t want to come with us to Wentworth.”

“It has nothing to do with that. You must see how much turmoil my coming here has caused. Even between Mary and Tom …”

Georgiana shook her head. “No … I know why Mary spoke to Tom that way and believe me, you are not to blame for it.”

Charlotte was tempted to ask what the reason for the disagreement was but she stopped herself.

Georgiana crawled on the left side of the bed, stretching back against the pillows and Charlotte followed suit. Soon enough they were both under the covers.

“Would you come to Wentworth if I asked you to?” Georgiana said, after a while. “Not for Mary or for the pheasant pies. But for me?”

In her quieter moments, Georgiana seemed much younger than she was. She was looking at Charlotte with big, pleading eyes, but behind the impetuous impulse, she could see the same sadness and insecurity she had seen in her friend from the first day she had met her. “What’s the matter?” she said.

“It’s just … whatever happens over the next few weeks, I don’t think I will see you for a very long time and I’m not ready to part from you just yet.”

Charlotte laughed softly. “Don’t despair. You can come visit me in the spring, at Willingden if my brothers haven’t scared you off.”

“That’s the thing … I don’t think I will be here in the spring.” Georgiana said, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “Mrs Campion has decided that I should go on a tour of Europe. I won’t be back in London for years.”

“What?” Charlotte said, her voice rising with outrage. “No! I don’t believe Mr Parker would allow you to go away for so long.”

“He might not have a choice. Not if the harpy settles it that I should go.”

“But … Mr Parker has promised you he would be a better guardian. She wouldn’t want him to break his word. She loves him …”

“No, she doesn’t, Charlotte …” Georgiana said. “I don’t know what she wants from him. But she doesn’t love him.”

There was no artifice in Georgiana’s voice, no attempt at convincing her of anything. She was just stating a fact and it tore at Charlotte’s heart. As tormented as she was by the thought of Sidney and Mrs Campion loving each other, to think of him entering a marriage to someone who did not care for him felt even worse.

“In any case, I’d rather be across the channel than living in the same house as the harpy. She’s horrible!”

Charlotte tried to smile. “It might not be as bad as you think. You’ll get to see so much of the world! The Versailles in France, the ancient Roman ruins …”

“Stuffy buildings and crumbling rocks,” Georgiana said, turning on her back. “I could very much do without all that.”

Charlotte couldn’t help but laugh. She had always dreamed of traveling and seeing as many wonders as she could, but she had to admit Georgiana was ill suited for day long visits in museums.

“What of Mr Molyneux?” Charlotte asked, already dreading the response. “Does he know?”

“Yes, he knows,” she said, turning to look at her. “And I will thank you to stop looking at me with that shocked expression. If I could bring myself to like Sidney for your sake, you can do the same for Otis.”

Charlotte found it hard to do as Georgiana asked. Not because she didn’t like Otis, but precisely because she had very much liked him. She had always prided herself on her judgment of people, but Otis Molyneux had been, by far, her greatest blunder. “Just be careful …”

“Will you come then? To Wentworth? We can eat dry pheasant pie and trudge through mud and generally have a miserable time.”

She found herself nodding, despite her better judgment. “Well, if you put it like that … how can I refuse?”

 _Two more weeks then,_ she thought. Two more weeks before she put an end to it all.

***

Charlotte had never traveled so far north before and she was more than a little taken aback by the length of the journey and general poor state of the roads.

In order to arrive at Wentworth Woodhouse by the afternoon, they had been forced to depart London at the earliest possible hour, which had been more than a little challenging with three very sleepy children and one very ill-tempered Georgiana.

Mary and Charlotte had taken the children in one carriage after a rather awkward exchange between Mary and Tom that had him relegated to the separate couch, where together with his brother and sister, he was given the thankless task of lifting Georgiana’s spirits.

The children had been far more agreeable. After a few games of riddles and Chinese whispers, they had fallen asleep. Little Henry was cradled in his mother’s arms while Alice leaned against her shoulder.

Charlotte had retreated in the corner to let Jenny stretch on the bench, her head resting in her lap.

It was a rather chilly December day and the wind whooshed through the carriage doors. She was more grateful than ever for the thick woolen coat Alison had labored on in the weeks after her accident. She snuggled closer into the cushions, one arm firmly wrapped around Jenny to make sure she didn’t fall over every time the carriage was jolted by the holes and puddles that seemed to populate the Northern road.

She kept her eyes firmly closed, feigning sleep, afraid that Mary would restart the unpleasant conversation she had insisted on ever since leaving London.

Out of a desire for honesty or simply needing to confide in someone, Mary had felt the need to explain her animosity towards her husband. But, no matter how much Charlotte cared for her, she knew she couldn’t be the person Mary could entrust her secrets to. She was unable to listen to Mary talking about her certainty that Sidney would have proposed to her on the night of the Midsummer Ball or the shock of his revelations on his return from London.

Still, through the hours of travel, her mind had nothing but time to ponder Tom’s mercenary intentions with his brother and particularly of the change Mary said she had noticed in Sidney’s demeanor since the summer _. I think he’s fighting again_ , she had said.

The image of the faint bruises around his left eye played in Charlotte’s mind and she was overcome with a desperate need to be near him, to stop him from doing such foolish things again.

Before she knew it, she was once again in his bedroom, drifting happily in his arms, his lips hovering over hers. A figment of her mind he might have been, but it sent her heart racing. She could almost taste him and it set her lips aflame, tingling in a sweet ache of expectation she found both unbearable and yet soothing.

“Charlotte …”

It was only when Mary called her name and touched her knee that she realized she must have drifted off to sleep.

She opened her eyes to find the carriage and everyone in it bathed in orange light. The sun was setting just outside her window and had colored the landscapes of tall grass and yellow leafed trees in glorious hues of red and pink and deep orange.

“It’s so beautiful,” Charlotte said.

Jenny roused in her arms and lifted her little blond head. “What? I want to see.”

Charlotte helped her get up and the little girl pressed her face against the window. “It looks like sweets,” she said. “Are the trees always pink in the North, mama?”

Charlotte and Mary laughed but as they entered a thick, lush forest of pines and firs, their mirth was slowly replaced by the same childlike wonderment. The long branches brushed against the hood and sides of the carriage and the fresh smell burst through the doors.

Through the trees, Charlotte spotted a herd of deer, running in unison with their horses. For a moment she was reminded of Willingden and the afternoons she would spend in the woods with her siblings, although there were hardly any deer back home. Mostly hares and wild geese.

“I think we’ve entered Wentworth Park,” Mary said. 

The estate seemed to stretch endlessly as the carriage left behind the woods and continued on a winding road crossing a large, frosted meadow. In the distance Charlotte could see tall grass and the edges of a large lake. Tall oaks and sycamore trees were shedding the last of their yellowed leaves.

As she attempted to estimate the distance that they had traveled, it occurred to Charlotte that the entirety of Willingden might fit two fold into Lord Babington’s estate.

It was almost an hour later that they reached a handsome large edifice. It was strangely shaped, built around aninterior courtyard, but she supposed that a family of such means would be allowed their eccentricities. The gate tower clock struck just as they came in full view of it, announcing the 5th hour in the afternoon.

It was only as two grooms exited the stables astride two of the most glorious bridle horses she had ever seen that Charlotte realized this was not the house at all but the stables.

“Does Lord Babington own the whole of Yorkshire, do you think?” Charlotte said, only halfway quipping.

“The most beautiful part of it at least,” Mary replied, just as surprised as her.

Finally, as the carriage veered towards the left, the house came into view and Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat. If she had thought Lady Denham’s house was grand, this was a whole other matter entirely. Built in a classic, Palladian style, it was on a scale she had not seen in stately homes, even in her father’s architecture books. It had an impressive portico that boasted no less than six columns and two immense wings that each ended in tall, imposing towers.

“Is this Sleeping Beauty’s palace?” Jenny whispered, remembering the fairytale Charlotte had read to her the day before. She had found a beautiful illustrated book in the library and the little girl had been mesmerized by the explosion of color and shapes of the cursed palace.

“No, silly,” Alice replied, in her grown up voice. “Sleeping Beauty is just a story.”

Charlotte could not fault Jenny for thinking the house enchanted. Built on flat land, the structure dominated the landscape like a dormant giant of white washed stone. Beautiful and yet remote and overbearing.

As they neared the house, the figures of their hosts became clearer. Lord and Lady Babington were waiting at the entrance to the East Wing, surrounded by a staff of 20 or so servants all dressed in black uniforms.

When the carriage stopped, Charlotte reached to open the door and found herself hesitating. “I suppose we can’t turn around now.”

Mary smiled. “Seeing as we’re here, we might as well go through with it.”

The crisp winter air hit them as soon as she opened the door. They were not two steps out of the carriage when Lord Babington raced forward to greet them. “Mrs Parker,” he said, bowing to Mary. “Welcome to Wentworth! I hope the trip wasn’t too tiring.”

“Not at all, sir. Thank you for extending the invitation.”

“And Miss Heywood!” he said, turning towards her, smiling broadly. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again!”

She barely had time to reciprocate the sentiment before he was guiding her towards his wife. “Look, Esther! Miss Heywood did come after all.”

Lady Babington had never looked more at ease with her surroundings. Dressed in a dark burgundy pelisse with broad swansdown trimmings around the collar, cuffs and down the front of the coat, she looked more a queen than she had ever done. Her red hair had darkened to the color of rubies and it contrasted with her pale white skin, giving her the appearance of the kind of woman Charlotte would have always supposed would live in one of these houses.

“I can see that, George.” she said, sounding as stern as when she had first met her. “Welcome, Miss Heywood.”

She was looking down on her with disintrested blue eyes and Charlotte couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. She had thought she and Esther had reached an understanding after the Midsummer Ball.

“We’ve had a few additions to our party,” she said.

“Oh? Have Tom and the rest arrived?” Mary asked

“No,” Lord Babington said, ushering Mary and the children inside. “I’m afraid they have met with some trouble on the road. Done in by a herd of sheep from what I understand. I’ve sent another carriage for them. They should arrive shortly.”

In turn, Esther took Charlotte’s arm, forcing her to walk more slowly. “It’s Mrs Campion and Sidney,” she whispered, holding her arm tightly. “It could not be helped. That scheming interloper cornered poor George when he was in London last week and he was left with no choice but to invite her.”

Charlotte held her breath as she walked into the foyer, grateful for the tight grip on her arm. A long red carpet ran the length of the hall and up the stairs that seemed to be extremely far away as she walked on unsteady legs. On either side a forest of pillars marked the pathway, separating the walkthrough from the fireplaces and statue adorned alcoves. She looked from side to side, afraid that at any moment, Mrs Campion might materialize from behind one of them.

“Do not trouble yourself,” Esther said. “I’ve sent them on an expedition of the estate. They won’t be back for another hour at least.”

She released a shaking breath. _Courage, Charlotte!_ After all, deep down, she knew there was a chance this would happen. She had chosen to come there for Georgiana’s sake. Now she needed to play her part. And clinging to Esther’s arm would not help matters.

They stopped just in front of the grand staircase and Charlotte stepped away from her. She lifted her chin and smiled. She opened her mouth to speak but as Mary joined them, she remained quiet.

Esther seemed to understand. “I still need to see to tonight’s dinner, but Dawkins will escort you to your rooms,” she said. “Take care that they want for nothing, Dawkins.”

“Very well, ma’am. This way,” the portly housekeeper said.

Lord Babington excused himself as well and Charlotte, Mary and the children were left with Mrs Dawkins who led them up the stairs towards their rooms.

“George mentioned another guest that claims your acquaintance, Charlotte,” Mary said, as they came atop the stairs. “You hadn’t mentioned you knew Mr Gillingham.”

Charlotte grit her teeth at the mention of the name. Was she never to be free of that man? What did he want from her that he would pursue her here of all places? “I only met him in passing,” she said. “I understand he and Sid … Mr Parker were at Cambridge together?”

“Oh, it was more than that. They were the closest of friends. I believe Sidney regarded him as a third brother. Unfortunately they fell out, as you can well imagine.”

“Why? What happened?” Charlotte asked, unable to stop herself.

Mary took a moment to look at her before responding. “Oh, my dear … you don’t know … Mr Gillingham was Mr Campion’s nephew. It was he who introduced Eliza to his uncle.”

Charlotte remembered asking him about his uncle and the curtness of his reply. Of course … He had been afraid of being found out. What a perfect fool she had been!

“Once that happened, any friendship between him and Sidney was impossible. In fact we had not heard from him in many years until he visited us in September. I found it peculiar that he would come to Sanditon and seek our company, but Tom was persuaded to entertain him for several days, hoping that he would return during the season.”

A cold chill spread across Charlotte’s skin that didn’t abate even after she had left Mary and the children and continued down the corridor by herself.

Whatever Mr Gillingham’s design might be, it was a very well thought out one and he had singled her out as his pawn. The thought enraged but also frightened her. There was something dangerous and unpredictable in him. His cold persistence, his concealment of his identity for so long made her weary and she wondered if she should alert the Parkers. But what could she tell them aside from her own suspicions? 

“This is your room, miss,” Mrs Dawkins said stopping in front of a tall white door.

It was then that Charlotte realized to her horror that after so many left and right turns, she hardly knew how to find her way back to the stairs again. “Thank you … I … Would you be able to tell where the stairs to the foyer are from here?”

The housekeeper smiled, the warmth spreading across her withered features. “Not to worry, miss. A footman will come escort you to the dining room in exactly one hour. In your room, you will also find a silver box filled with confetti that I suggest you use to leave a trail so you can find your back after dinner.”

The yellow bedroom, as it was called, was larger than most drawing rooms Charlotte had been in until then. It had earned its name because of the brightly colored wallpaper that seemed to darken the rich mahogany of the lavish and tasteful furnishings. Two large grey marble columns separated the four poster bed from the rest of the room.

On the dressing table, a beautiful silver incrusted box was left for her. When she opened it, a few of the yellow confetti flew out, spreading on the table. She would have thought it a strange custom if she could not see the usefulness of it after having walked down corridors for the last quarter of an hour or so.

Despite a roaring fire in the large, marble fireplace, the room still felt a little drafty. As she quickly disrobed and changed for dinner, Charlotte was grateful for the large, thick purple and blue rug that quite impossibly covered most of the room.

She had picked one of her best and newest dresses, of white muslin with intricate embroidery of wild flowers that Alison had slaved over for weeks.

The hair sadly remained pinned in the same simple and tight updo. She had never been skilled at doing her hair, preferring to let it loose. But that did not seem appropriate any longer.

The room boasted of a magnificent full length mirror and as she starred at her reflection, she became even more insecure than before. She looked drawn out and tired and all together provincial. The dress was too loose now that she had lost so much weight and the hair had none of those pretty curls and twists that were so fashionable.

As the footman guided her towards the stairs, she clung desperately to the shawl she had wrapped around her shoulders to hide the ill fit of her dress, praying that she made it through the evening with as little fuss as possible.

But it was not to be. As she finally made it to the stairs, she was most unpleasantly intercepted by Mr Gillingham coming from the opposite direction. He stopped as soon as he saw her and bowed deeply, leaving her no choice but to curtsey in response.

“Miss Heywood,” he said, coming closer to her. “How good it is to see you.”

“Mr Gillingham,” she said, intent on moving past him and down the stairs.

“May I escort you to the dining room?” He offered her his arm and dismissed the footman with a wave of the hand. “It’s alright, Jimmy. I’ll take care of the lady.”

With the footman gone and no other means of getting to the dining room, Charlotte was left no choice but to take his arm.

“I was very saddened to hear of your relapse. I trust you are feeling better,” he said as they descended the stairs.

“You are nothing if not well informed, Mr Gillingham.”

“Sidney’s butler was kind enough to inform me of your progress when I came to visit. Although I’m afraid he was rather careless with my card. Or did you receive it?”

“My condition being as it was, I was not in the spirits for visits, I’m afraid. You will forgive me, won’t you?”

They were making their way through the Pillar Hall and down a long and large drawing room of sorts. That’s how it had been set up at least, although the purpose seemed to have been as a corridor, leading to various rooms on one side and covered in windows on the other, overlooking a rather spectacular vista of the lake.

In the distance, the space was completed by two curved windows that went almost to the ceiling. The rest of the party had convened there, chatting amongst themselves. Mary, Arthur and Diana in one corner were joined by Lord and Lady Babington.

Charlotte’s stomach twisted in knots as they neared closer and she could see Sidney’s frame, close to the window. His back was turned to her, caught in a conversation with Tom. Mrs. Campion’s laugh pierced through the hall, as she stood a few feet away, apparently raptured by the conversation between the two brothers.

“Truth be told,” Mr Gillingham said, forcing her to focus her attentions back on him, “I was hoping you could find it in your heart to forgive me. I should have let you know my connection to the Parkers as soon as I met Sidney’s ward, but I could not find the right time for it.”

“And I suppose there was no time to mention it in the month prior when my family and I enjoyed your constant company?”

He frowned, looking confused at the question, which only infuriated her more.

“Mary told me of your visit to Sanditon,” she clarified. “I imagine they must have spoken of me.”

“I’m afraid they did not, Miss Heywood,” he said, scrutinizing her. A small smile played on his lips as he said: “Rather remiss of them, I know …”

Despite his apparent aloofness, he was a cruel man and his jab did not fail to hit its target. She had no one to blame but herself. She had allowed her anger to drive her into a sparring match with him when such a thing could not end but badly for her.

As soon as they reached the end of the hall, Lady Denham alerted everyone to their presence.

“Ah! Miss Heywood!” she said, her voice echoing most jarringly. “Finally! Can we go in now?”

She addressed the question to Lord and Lady Babington, but did not wait for a reply. She extended her hand to Tom who scrambled to take it and escort her to the dining room.

As Mr Gillingham led her inside, her eyes met Sidney’s who still seemed glued to window sill. He stared at her as intensely as he had ever done and she turned her head quickly, determined to pay no mind to it.

***

“No! No! No!” Lady Denham said, from the head of the table as soon as everyone sat down. “Mr Parker!”

All three Parker brothers stood to attention.

“Not you,” she sighed, waving them off. “Mr Sidney Parker. You can’t sit next to your fiancée. Esther, have I taught you nothing?”

She only spared her niece a look before turning her attentions to the table arrangements. Charlotte kept her eyes fixed on the plate in front of her, hoping that Lady Denham would pass her by, but to no avail.

“Come sit here, next to Miss Heywood,” she ordered. “Mr Gillingham, take his place next to Mrs Campion.”

It was Mr Gillingham that stood up first and in due course Sidney threw his napkin on the table and followed suit. As she dared a look at him, the scowl on his face left her in no doubt that he was not in the least pleased to be seated next to her.

She turned her head from his direction and tried her best to concentrate on Lord Babington. “I understand there is to be a shooting expedition during our stay?” she asked, as the screeching of the chair sent a shiver down her back.

“Ah, yes,” Lord Babington said, smiling amiably. “There’s a lot of game on the estate and both our larders here, as well as my tenants, depend on the seasonal hunts.”

“Do you also hold fox hunts?”

“No,” he said, rather forcefully. “Many of my neighbors are fond of it but it’s a barbaric practice. I will not have it at Wentworth.”

Charlotte smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.” She had seen a fox hunt from afar in Willingden and she did not care for it one bit.

As the footmen began serving the food, she found herself forced to turn towards Sidney. He seemed engaged in conversation with Mary who was sitting next to him, but as she reached out for the soup bowl, their hands interlocked on the ladle.

She quickly withdrew her hand, placing it firmly in her lap.

“Let me,” he said, picking up her plate. The low tone of his voice made her resolve crumble and she couldn’t help but look up at him.

He was … as handsome as ever in his black coat and crisp white shirt and cravat. She found herself committing each of his features to memory, afraid that she would once again forget them. She traced the slope of his slightly crooked nose, the roundness of his full, red lips, the slight stubble on his jaw. She remembered the feel of his cheek against hers, of his hand playing with her fingers and it took all of her strength not to reach for him now.

“That’s all right,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m not very hungry.”

He paid her no mind and served her the soup anyway. “Come .... After what you’ve been through, you need to regain your strength.”

The hardness of his voice sent a shock through her. All at once, she was reminded of the pitiful reflection she had seen in the yellow bedroom. Why did she ever allow herself to believe he would look on her the same way she did on him?

“I think I can be my own judge as to what I need and don’t need, Mr Parker,” she said, pushing the plate away.

“Can you?” he asked in that infuriating tone of certainty he seemed to reserve for the moments when he was reprimanding her. The way his brown eyes fixed on her, all a storm of recrimination and questions left her in no doubt of it.

He blamed her for being so careless as to come there and put his affairs in jeopardy. She bit her lip and turned from him, choosing to stare at the table instead. “I only came here for Georgiana’s sake …” she whispered, still foolishly hoping he would not see her as an inconvenience.

“What an interesting dress you have on, Miss Heywood.”

She could distinguish the sharpness of the tone long before she managed to make eye contact with Mrs Campion through the large flower arrangement placed on the table directly between them.

She was dressed in an opulent blue silk and taffeta gown, her hair affixed with blue sapphire pins in the latest fashion. As she turned her head from side to side, she seemed almost to sparkle in the candle light. A worthy partner for the refined, handsome Sidney Parker …

“Esther, you did not tell me we didn’t need to change for dinner,” she continued, a smile playing on her lips.

“Ah, but she did change. Didn’t you, Miss Heywood?” Lady Denham said, forcing her into the conversation.

Charlotte’s cheeks burned red from the embarrassment as everyone at the table turned to look at her. But she took her time to answer as she ate a spoon full of soup before lifting her gaze and smiling. “I did.”

“Oh!” Mrs Campion replied, laughing. “You must forgive me. I’m no expert on country fashions.”

“No, but then you wouldn’t be, would you?” Lady Denham said. “Having spent the last ten years abroad …. One does wonder what would prompt you to spend so much time among papists and all manner of continentals.”

“A desire to broaden my horizons, my Lady,” Mrs Campion replied, sipping her wine.

“Some might say there was a risk of broadening them too much.”

“Not at all. As I’ve told Miss Lambe, time spent on the continent is essential for a young lady’s education. The old English way of spending your days in your small, quaint village, reading Heraclitus and attending country dances at the assembly rooms no longer suffices. A man of taste will always discard the quaint for the sophisticated. No matter how much certain young ladies might try to ensnare him.”

Under the table, Charlotte balled her hands into fists to stop herself from running out of the room. She kept her countenance as serene as she could as she faced the looks of curiosity or compassion from those around the table as no one was left in any doubt as to who the target of Mrs Campion’s pointed attacks was.

Next to her Sidney shifted in his seat, but said nothing, and that seemed to hurt her all the more.

It was Mr Gillingham that spoke finally. “You are right, my dearest Eliza. Sophistication is certainly something people on the continent pride themselves on. However, having spent some time there myself, it’s been my experience that the word tends to hide a reality that is far less beneficial. Upon entry, you are promised a sophisticated palace but receive a damp, cold room that will have you dying of consumption within a fortnight.” He looked at Charlotte for a moment and smiled. “I’ll take the English countryside any day.”

The rest of the party laughed. Arthur and Diana agreed with Mr Gillingham recalling their near death experience in the German Alps and Tom took the opportunity to praise the excellent and particularly dry Sanditon accommodations.

Mrs Campion remained oddly quiet for the rest of the dinner to Charlotte’s great relief, turning her attentions towards Tom and his animated descriptions of Sanditon’s new public square.

It was an impossibly long dinner as far as Charlotte was concerned, one course giving way to another, which she tossed around the plate and could not bring herself to eat. Lord Babington was kind enough to engage her in conversation throughout, spearing her the chore of staring at her plate for fear of looking to her left and turning into a pillar of salt.

As soon as dinner was over, everyone retired to the drawing room, bucking the traditional separation of the sexes as Tom convinced them to look over his Sanditon plans.

Seizing the opportunity, Charlotte almost ran towards the door before remembering that she had failed to take Mrs Dawkins’ advice and use her confetti to mark the way back to her room. She was forced to stop and approach one of the footmen who were standing next to the window.

“Excuse me,” she said, as quietly as she could. “I don’t remember how to get to my room. Would you be able to help?”

Before the footman was able to reply, a voice from behind her stopped him.

“Miss Heywood,” Sidney said. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

She wrapped her shawl tightly around herself and turned to look at him, hoping that she did not betray the turmoil he continued to wreck within her. His eyes had turned soft and gentle and he regarded her with such care that for a moment she thought her heart would break. It was the cruelest thing of all. If only he would remain angry and cold to her. She could defend herself against that. But when he held her so resolutely in his gaze, when every obstacle between them seemed futile and crumbling, there was nothing he could ask of her that she could refuse.

“Miss Heywood …” he said in a low, intimate voice, taking one step towards her.

She stepped away on shaking legs, but his pull on her was undeniable. _Do not look at me that way_ … _You don’t love me … Leave me be._

“Miss Heywood!”

Mr Gillingham’s voice seemed to break Sidney’s hold on her and she turned towards him, grateful for the distraction.

“I promised I would show you the gardens after dinner, did I not? Forgive me for the delay.”

He extended her his arm and she took it without hesitation. “Not at all, Mr Gillingham.”

She glanced at Sidney only for one moment, avoiding looking in his eyes. “Good night, Mr Parker,” she said, as she allowed Mr Gillingham to escort her.

They walked the length of the drawing room in silence. Eventually, Charlotte found her voice enough to speak. “Thank you for that.”

“No need to thank me,” he said, as they left the drawing room behind and headed for the stairs. “I assume you would like to retire for the evening?”

“Yes,” she said, sighing in relief.

He signaled the footman that was waiting near the entrance. “Jimmy, please escort the lady to her bedroom.” He then turned towards her and bowed, before disappearing between the stone pillars.

Wentworth looked even more foreboding and intimidating at night as she walked down the dark, narrow corridors with only the footman’s candle for guidance. She resolved to pay attention to the turns they took, but she was lost in thought for most of the journey.

As soon as she entered her room, she leaned against the door and collapsed. Without prior warning, she burst into tears, her whole body trembling. Mrs Campion’s words mingled in her mind with Sidney’s disappointment at her being there, until she was left with only the image of him looking at her with fiery eyes as she left with Mr Gillingham.

She staggered to her feet and went to the writing desk next to the fire place. With shaking hands, she took the quill pen and scribbled a few words through the tears that threatened to drown her:

_“Dear Allie,_

_I lied and lied and lied. I did love him. I love him still …”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't know, Wentworth Woodhouse is an actual Georgian stately home, the largest private home in England, in fact. It's a magnificent building and I just couldn't resist using it given the name connection to not one but two of Austen's greatest works. Aside from the house name, I have sprinkled in more Austen Easter Eggs in this and the following chapters, if anyone cares to go hunting. :)


	4. So We'll Go No More a Roving II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all cordially invited to Lord and Lady Babington's Hunting Ball! As their stay at Wentworth progresses, sparks fly between Sidney and Charlotte and the rest of the party, as love stories are revealed, some are fulfilled and some run the risk of being torn apart forever.

**Part 4**

**_So We'll Go No More a Roving II_ **

**_By Lord Byron_ **

_Though the night was made for loving,_

_And the day returns too soon,_

_Yet we'll go no more a roving_

_By the light of the moon._

Charlotte sat on her haunches in front of the fireplace, stoking the fire with the iron poker. She watched her letter to Alison burn to nothing more than a few shreds of ash. She had kept it for a few days, going back and forth on whether to send it or not, before deciding that it was best to leave things as they were. She was too far gone and had pretended for too long to turn back now. What right did she have to burden her sister when she did not trust her from the beginning?

She got up and finished the last of her tea before picking up her ball gown and heading out the door. She had been summoned to Esther’s rooms by Lady Denham for the inspection of her Hunting Ball attire.

She supposed she should be grateful that she had been given a reprieve of a few days after the disastrous dinner on her first night and been left largely to her own devices. Georgiana and her had set about exploring the Wentworth park, mostly at Charlotte’s insistence. They had made a few excursions into the village, even bucking tradition and stopping at the local inn for supper and refreshment, as well as long walks around the pine forest.

Georgiana was kind enough not to say anything as Charlotte delayed their return to the house until after dinner had been served and she had managed to stay out of Sidney and Mrs Campion’s way for three whole days.

But it was not to last. She was forced to attend the hunt that morning as well as the evening ball and she tried to steel herself for Mrs Campion’s inevitable needling and Sidney’s ... She sighed, unsure of what to call it anymore. 

“I suppose this will have to do,” Lady Denham said, turning her blue muslin dress over with her fan. “Although it would have looked better made of silk.”

When she had it made for the Midsummer Ball, the seamstress had said the same thing and she was ready to wager in the same tone as Lady Denham, but Charlotte couldn’t afford the silk so she braved her disapproval and insisted on the muslin instead.

Despite it, she could not find fault in the dress. In fact, it was one of her most treasured possessions. Not least because she couldn’t remember a time when she had been as happy as when she was wearing it.

“Oh well, I suppose a shawl would solve it. Esther?”

“Yes, aunt?” Esther said, leaning against the satinwood writing desk, her hand firmly over the middle drawer.

“Don’t just stand there, girl! Show us your shawls!”

Esther rolled her eyes and hesitated for a moment, her hand still lingering on the half open drawer. Finally, under Lady Denham’s glare, she walked over to the adjoining room.

She didn’t quite know how long she tarried, but it was more than Lady Denham was willing to wait.

“What are you doing in there, girl? Drafting the Magna Carta?”

Charlotte supposed Esther very rarely, if ever, looked through her own things. Her maid would do that for her which was the true reason for her delay. But she remained silent, having gotten more than her fair share of rebukes from Lady Denham.

Esther finally came out of the room with an arm full of fabrics in all manner of colours, brought them over to the bed and dropped them unceremoniously.

They blended beautifully with the green damask silk the bed covers and canopy were draped in. She had been mesmerized by it as soon as she had walked into the room. The gildwood was so intricately carved and the dome canopy made it seem more fairytale than reality.

As Esther lay against the cushions with a bored expression, waiting for her aunt’s appraisal of the shawls, Charlotte couldn’t help but think of Sleeping Beauty and what Jenny would make of the scene if she could witness it.

Lady Denham’s face twisted as she picked each of them and then threw them to the side. “No, not this one … This one is too green … Far too much lace!” With an aggravated sigh, she turned to her niece. “There’s not one here that will work!”

“Well, that is unfortunate,” Esther said, in that sharp way of hers, “because it’s all I have.”

The lady shook her head disapprovingly and turned her attentions back on Charlotte. “What’s to be done with you then?”

She grabbed her chin and moved her head from side to side. “Perhaps a necklace? Some earrings?”

“I have my diamante ribbon necklace and earrings with me,” Charlotte suggested.

“Diamante,” Lady Denham scoffed, looking back at Esther.

“Honestly, Charlotte. You might as well hand yourself over to Mrs Campion as blood sacrifice,” Esther said laughing

“I would not laugh if I were you, Esther. Not with those shawls on display! Let’s see if your jewelry collection fairs any better.”

With precise accuracy Lady Denham went straight to the writing desk, her hand reaching for the middle drawer.

“Not there!” Esther shouted, jumping from the bed in a panic.

Charlotte was closer so she ran over, placing a hand over the drawer. As she shut it closed, she could see the stack of letters neatly placed inside, the cursive name of Edward Denham written on the top envelope.

“I believe this is the jewelry box, Lady Denham,” she said, pointing to the box atop the desk.

Lady Denham frowned for a moment. “Well, then,” she finally said, waving her fan. “Open it!”

She opened the lacquered Lion paws’ feet box as Esther approached them cautiously. It was filled with glittering gems of all sizes and Charlotte was drawn to a beautiful hair comb adorned with a large sapphire. She picked up and held it against the light of the window, mesmerized by how the colour shifted.

“Yes,” Lady Denham said. “That could work with your hair. Don’t you think, Esther?”

“It could … If you were to lend her your sapphire and pearl set.”

Lady Denham seemed to consider it, looking back at Esther as if to reproach her before relenting. “Very well. It seems I must do everything as you are so ill equipped for the task at hand!”

In a moment, she had turned and walked out of the room, leaving Esther and Charlotte alone. As soon as she was out the door, Esther breathed a sigh of relief and opened the middle drawer.

Charlotte stepped to the side, turning away.

“No need to act coy now,” Esther said. “I know you saw what’s in here.”

“I didn’t mean to pry! It was just in the haste of trying to stop Lady Denham, I …”

“It doesn’t matter,” Esther said, taking the letters out. “Better you than my aunt.”

She looked around the room before turning her attentions towards the bed. “Maybe I should hide them in between the shawls. She hated those.”

Charlotte laughed and watched her wrapping the letters in one of the blue silk ones.

“I do love him, you know …” she said, while she piled the rest of the shawls on top. “George, I mean … I love him, but I loved Edward first. I cannot bear to see him suffer when I have the means to help him.”

Charlotte wanted to tell her that she understood, but the truth was she didn’t. Edward had hurt her in ways she couldn’t even comprehend while Lord Babington only wanted to make her happy.

For the second time in their acquaintance, she was struck by the similarities between her and George. Both of them found themselves in love with people who had no room in their hearts for them because of someone else … Someone who had come before and that they loved despite the pain they had endured at their hands.

Perhaps that was all love was … a series of firsts that delivered blows no one who came after could ever heal. The thought made her sad and she felt tears stinging her eyes, her pulse drumming in her ears. It took a moment for her to compose herself and realize that Esther was looking directly at her.

“Charlotte, are you listening to me?”

“Yes … I … I just …”

“I asked if you brought your gloves.”

“Oh! I forgot …”

“You better go and fetch them. She’ll want to see them.”

Charlotte nodded quickly and rushed out of the room, grateful for the escape.

She chastised herself for almost breaking down in front of Esther, but she found it harder and harder to control her nerves. She longed for the peace and serenity she had counted on before this happened to her and she feared she could never find her way back there.

Gloves in hand, she wandered back through the corridors. Esther’s rooms were in the opposing wing to hers and she felt a certain amount of pride that she had managed to navigate the labyrinth of hallways and stairs without any assistance.

“I’ve brought the gloves. Is Lady Denham …?” She stopped as soon as she entered the room and looked up.

The room was quiet and dark, the white canvas canopies completely pulled around the bed. A few cravats and buttons were discarded on the mahogany tea table, next to the fireplace.

For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out where she had taken the wrong turn. She went over it in her mind for a moment before deciding that the best course of action would be to go back to the main staircase and start fresh from there.

As she reached for the door handle, she heard footsteps just outside the door.

“You cannot do this, Andrew! I will not allow it!”

Mrs Campion’s voice sent a jolt through her and as the footsteps grew nearer, she could no longer think. She looked from side to side, in a panic, trying to find a place to hide before running towards the bed.

She slipped through the canopy curtains, getting on top of the bed, just as the door opened and Mr Gillingham walked in.

“And how do you mean to stop me?” he said.

The central piece of the canopy allowed for the narrowest of partings and through it she could see Mrs Campion grabbing his arm and turning him towards her. “You won’t do it. No matter what you say, you won’t do it.”

“Desist from this madness, madam, or find yourself destitute.”

Mrs Campion burst into a nervous laugh, her eyes still desperately searching for something. “Your threats are empty,” she said. “You cannot reveal my faults without making yours public in the process. Seek vengeance against me and find yourself a pariah.”

Mr Gillingham gave out a harsh sort of laugh and turned his back on her, making Charlotte freeze in place as he neared the bed. She closed her eyes, praying that she would not be discovered.

“I’m disappointed, Eliza,” he said, his voice so close to her she could almost feel his breath. “I expected a more creative repertoire. Have you ever known me to care what society thinks? And most importantly have you ever found society to reject a single, wealthy man? I think I will weather the storm.”

“A delay,” came the desperate reply. Mrs Campion’s dress whooshed past her ear and as she opened her eyes, she could see her just inches away, hanging on Mr Gillingham’s lapels. “A delay is all I ask. After New Year’s we will be married and you can do what you want! Please, Andrew!”

“Give him up, Eliza. You will only make him miserable. He will hate you for the rest of his life.” Mr Gillingham’s voice seemed to soften and Charlotte had to suppress a gasp as his hand caressed Mrs Campion’s cheek.

“You’re wrong,” she said, defiantly. “He loves me!”

Mr Gillingham laughed. “No, he doesn’t. You know he doesn’t.”

“He always has. For 10 years, he’s remained faithful to me.”

He sighed, grabbing her jaw forcefully. “That’s enough!” he ordered in a hard tone Charlotte had never heard him use before. He kept her face fixed as he leaned in and kissed her.

Charlotte turned away, unable to look any longer. What was this? What where they doing to Sidney? What were they doing to them both?

“You want to see where your Dasher’s heart truly lies? Come here tonight, at a quarter to twelve and I will show you.”

Just as he finished speaking, the horns announcing the start of the hunt began to ring.

“I have no need for your demonstrations, Andrew,” Mrs Campion said, stepping away from him. “Pursue this matter now and there will be a scandal. Wait until Sidney and I are married and I will convince him to resolve the matter privately. You know full well how persuasive I can be.”

She turned and walked out of the door.

Charlotte expected Mr Gillingham to follow her, but he did not. Instead he went to the fireplace. He sighed deeply and leaned against the sofa, lighting a cigar. He poured himself a glass of whiskey which he downed in one go.

As the horns rung again, Charlotte’s heart began to beat out of control. Did he not plan on attending? If he remained in the room, sooner or later he would …

The horns rang a third time and he finally stood up, leaving the cigar in the ashtray. He straightened his posture, pulling on his waist coat and finally left the room.

Charlotte’s whole body seemed to cave and she crumbled into the mattress.

Mr Gillingham was worse than she could have ever imagined! And Mrs Campion … Georgiana had said she did not love Sidney. That there was another reason she wanted to marry him …

She barely knew what to make of the conversation she had just overheard, but she needed to tell him what had transpired. She needed to warn him!

She jumped from the bed, her hands trembling so badly her gloves slipped through her fingers and onto the floor. She ran out of the room and down the corridor, heading for the stairs.

She nearly tripped on her skirts and she picked them up as she burst into the court yard. In her haste, she bumped into a footman who immediately stepped out of her way and bowed. “I apologize, miss,” he said.

“No, no,” she said, running past him. “The fault was mine.”

The court yard was in havoc as people from the village and neighbouring estates had convened for the hunt, all with their retinue of servants and friends. She looked through the crowd, trying to locate Sidney, pushing her way through as quickly as she could. She turned in all directions, but she could not spot him.

There was just Arthur and Diana somewhere in the distance. Perhaps they knew where he was.

She did not take more than a few steps towards them when Lady Denham intercepted her. “Ah! There you are, you ungrateful girl! Where did you disappear?”

“I … I …” she said, trying to move past her as quickly as possible.

“Never mind,” she said, taking her arm and pulling her in the opposite direction. “I’ve instructed my maid to leave the necklace and earrings in your room. Careful you don’t lose them!”

“Thank you, Lady Denham. That’s very generous, but I have to go.” Charlotte tried to pull away but failed.

“Of course you do. That’s what happens when you leave everything to the last minute. I’ll ask one of the footmen to bring your coat.” As they made it past the worst of the crowd, Lady Denham pointed to Mr Gillingham standing a few feet away from them. “You will be partnering Andrew Gillingham. The two of you will be on the west bank with Sidney Parker and Eliza Campion.”

As she saw Sidney approaching Mr Gillingham, with Mrs Campion on his arm, Charlotte felt sick. “Please, Lady Denham! Please! I can’t! Let me partner Arthur or …”

“Don’t be silly, girl! Stop behaving like such a ninny and stand up for yourself as you used to!” Lady Denham said, pushing her forward before waving Mr Gillingham over. “Here she is. I have located her for you.” She released her arm and left.

Mr Gillingham, Sidney and Mrs Campion all turned to look at her. Part of Charlotte wanted to run away. But as she looked at Sidney, surrounded by people that she now knew wished him harm, she stepped towards them anyway.

***

They advanced through the tall grass slowly, leaving the lake they had crossed behind. It was still early in the morning so the mist hadn’t risen and he could barely see a few steps ahead of him

Sidney sighed and trenched through the grass, helping Eliza along, as she struggled with her skirts that kept getting caught in the mud beneath their feet.

He stole a glance towards his right, unable to look away from Charlotte. She stared ahead, as if lost in thought, biting her lip. She had no issues walking through the grass. She had simply lifted up her skirts and stepped forward with the same decisiveness she did everything.

She was glorious … Her cheeks had reddened from the morning wind and a few strands of reddish brown hair escaped the tight bun she was wearing these days. He wanted nothing more than to pull her hair down, let the wind muss it as it did on the cliffs and run his fingers through it.

He was the one that was supposed to be walking beside her instead of Andrew Gillingham. He searched her face, fearing to find interest there as he had the night of her arrival, but he could not decipher her expression.

As the scouts ahead signaled for them to stop, their eyes met and he was, instead, struck by the look of worry that he saw.

“Are you all right, Miss Heywood?” he asked, almost without thought.

She nodded. “I’m fine, Mr Parker. Thank you.” Her words might have seemed steady enough but her eyes still told him something was wrong.

“We could go back if you wish,” he said, cutting Gillingham just as he was about to interject.

“Are you squeamish, Miss Heywood?” Eliza asked, in a mocking tone meant to hurt him as much as Charlotte. “Do you faint at the sight of blood?”

It was her greatest weapon. As soon as he slipped and showed Charlotte any kind of attention or kindness, Eliza would wound her to punish him. How had he gotten here? It was all turned completely on its head … How could a person be in the exact place he wished he was for years and find himself as miserable as he did?

“I am perfectly well, Mr Parker,” Charlotte said, ignoring his fiancée. “Do not trouble yourself.”

“Of course you are, Miss Heywood,” Gillingham said, getting too close to her for his liking. “Do not let Parker put you off. He’s only attempting to avoid incurring another loss.”

“What do you mean, Andrew?” he asked.

“Surely you remember the last hunt we attended? Where I dispossessed you of your prized white mare?” Gillingham’s arm was brushing against Charlotte’s and he laughed while he looked at her. “He was a terrible shot and an even worse gambler.”

“Make ready!” the scouts ahead shouted as they advanced through the tall grass, flinging their canes from side to side.

Their grooms ran to their side with the long barrel guns and both men took them and aimed.

“This is so exciting!” Eliza said, in a high pitch voice, putting her hands over her ears.

“What do you say, Parker?” Gillingham said, as he scoped the skies. “Care to make another wager? Is there anything you have that I could want?”

Sidney’s blood seemed to boil in his veins and as soon as the first unfortunate bird took to the sky, he fired his gun and saw it tumbling to the ground.

“Ha! You’ve been practicing!” Gillingham said. “First to ten then?” He moved with his gun facing towards the skies and shot just as the bird past over his head. He missed.

“I haven’t named my price yet,” Sidney said.

“Name it. I am, as you well know, a man of my word.”

“I want to know what you are doing back in London.”

Sidney had asked him that once before, on the day he had walked into his drawing room and found him entertaining Georgiana and Charlotte. But Gillingham had refused to answer.

He grinned now as he always did when he did not get his way, but soon the smile faded. “Ah … Are you sure you want to know?”

In response, Sidney lifted his gun and looked up. A new flock of birds burst through the grass and he marked the one on the end of the formation. The bullet must have only scrapped it because it came plummeting to the ground, flailing its wings. “Quite sure.”

“Sidney!” Eliza said irritated. “This conversation is growing tiresome, don’t you think?”

“On the contrary, my dearest Eliza,” Gillingham replied. “A great many things hang in the balance of the outcome to this conversation. Is that not so, Sidney?”

He turned instinctively to Charlotte, who was standing to the side, her arms wrapped around herself. There was still that scared, skittish look in her eyes that made him want to send the whole world to hell and take her in his arms.

Instead he shot birds. He and Gillingham traded shots for more minutes than Sidney cared to count. An expert hunter would have finished the contest in half the time, but at long last he found himself in the lead, with eight down.

“Another good shot, Parker! You must really want the answer to your question. I’ll have to ask Lord Babington for a reward on my sacrifice for his larders.”

“Andrew, enough of this,” Eliza said.

“Eliza, please stay out of it,” he said, in a hard tone that caught her off guard.

Just as she prepared to speak again, Charlotte intervened. “May I try?”

He looked back at her only to find her smiling at Gillingham. The warmth she was displaying towards him brought to mind their closeness at dinner and he tightened his jaw.

“I’m only three down, Miss Heywood,” Gillingham said, laughing. “I’m not quite ready to concede defeat yet.”

“You might as well,” she said, crossing her arms behind her back. “With the way you’re holding your scattergun.”

Gillingham seemed intrigued and handed her the gun.

She lowered it, appraising it on all sides, before lifting it. “You need to keep it well balanced against the shoulder,” she said, her hands gliding over the barrel, “and spread your hand placement to make sure it does not shake while shooting.”

She cocked her head to the side, squinting, as she looked just above the barrel and lifted it upright. Her whole body moved gracefully, towards the left, following the birds, before she took her shot, hitting her target from a considerable distance.

“Your shot, Mr Parker,” she said, handing the gun to the groom and receiving a freshly loaded one in its turn. She rested it expertly against the crook of her arm.

“I fear you are far too skilled for me, Miss Heywood,” he said, unable to hide his admiration. As always, she managed to surprise him.

As she smiled back, dropping her eyes quickly, he found himself at the familiar crossroads between anger and adoration that Charlotte always seemed to drive him to.

“Go on, Parker,” Gillingham said, stepping back to look at both of them in amusement. “You’re still in the lead.”

It was anger that won in the end. Did she not see that Gillingham was toying with them both? Was she so naïve to think him a good man simply because he did one decent thing in his life and saved her from drowning?

His gun shook in his hands as he gripped it too tightly and his shot scattered in the wind, shamefully off its mark.

He proved no match for Charlotte, who despite him managing to blunder his way to another bird, never missed or looked as if she was struggling to hit her target. Not that her victory wounded him. He would have happily conceded anything to her, but not when it benefited Andrew Gillingham.

The villain smirked in triumph and applauded her. “That was extraordinary! Who knew we had an Artemis amongst us, eh, Parker?”

“Yes. Well done, Miss Heywood,” Eliza said. “Whatever challenges life might throw your way, you can always take comfort that you can always have supper for you can hunt!”

“Thank you, Mr Gillingham,” she said, handing her gun over the groom before turning an unusually steely glare towards Eliza. “I’ve never seen the point in entering a race unless you win it.”

“Neither have I. Which brings me to my prize, Parker …,” Gillingham said, turning towards him.

“Surely you mean my prize,” Charlotte said. “I was the one that won after all.”

Propriety stopped even Gillingham from pressing his claim further and he bowed. “Of course, Miss Heywood. Claim your booty. I’m sure Parker will be happy to oblige.”

She smiled, never taking her eyes off him. “I think I should like to request it from you. Tea and biscuits at the house if you would be so kind as to escort me back?”

It took all of Sidney’s strength to refrain from wiping the grin off Gillingham’s face with his fists. Damn him! Without realizing it, Charlotte had given him exactly what he sought. He handed her his arm and within a mere moment they had made their good-byes and headed for the boats.

Ever since Cambridge, they had played this game of gaining at the other’s expense, culminating in Andrew not telling him Eliza had accepted his uncle’s marriage proposal until days before they were to be married.

When he had found out he was back in London, he had suspected he had come to interfere with his wedding to Eliza, out of some misguided sense of loyalty to his dead uncle or more likely boredom. But no … it was Charlotte he had set his sights on.

“Should we go back as well?” Eliza asked, reaching for his arm.

“Not yet,” he said, pulling away from her. “I’ll see if the scouts have gathered the birds.”

He turned away and walked over the field, trying to put as much distance as he could between him and Eliza, and Gillingham and the whole damned affair … The thought of watching Charlotte enjoying her boat ride was more than he could bare at the moment.

He didn’t know how long he spent, buried ankle deep in mud while one of the older grooms explained the winter ritual of the Yorkshire pheasant, but it all proved entirely too long for Eliza who began calling out to him, in an ever increasing shrill tone.

“How much longer do you intend to continue in this manner?” she asked, as soon as he returned and they started walking towards the boat.

“I don’t know … How much longer do you intend to behave in that manner to Miss Heywood?” he asked.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He stopped and turned to face her. “Do you not see that your baseless attacks against her condemn you to willful cruelty and me to cowardice for ignoring them?”

“How dare you defend her in my presence? Don’t you see that she is here in a bid to win you back?”

His jaw twitched and he balled his fists, but the words escaped him anyway. “She has no need to win me, Eliza.”

He held himself back but she gathered his meaning well enough. Her eyes turned cold and narrow and her mouth twisted in anger.

“May I remind you I am all that is standing between your brother and ruination?”

He looked her up and down, wondering how he could have ever loved her. How he had been so blind to her lack of kindness, her selfishness and need to consume everything and everyone she crossed paths with.

He had willingly condemned himself to a life with her, but he would be damned if he allowed her to consume him on top of it.

“You have used that threat one too many times, Eliza. One of these days, I might not care.”

***

Georgiana stood on the large terrace, bent over the stone railing, pulling off small pieces of bread from the loaf in her hand and throwing them to the pigeons that had assembled below.

Behind her, through the opened glass doors, an army of servants could be heard running about left and right, lighting up the crystal chandeliers and stoking the fires in the six foot fireplaces in the ballroom.

It was going to be a wonderful party. She was almost sorry she was going to miss it.

The orchestra was rehearsing already, playing a lively scotch reel. Georgiana hummed along, banging her foot on the ground and feeding her birds. In the distance the sun had turned red and was dipping below the horizon.

Not long now and her darling Otis would come. All she had to do was wait for the clock to strike six.

“There you are, Miss Lambe!”

Arthur’s voice brought her out of her reverie and she turned to look at him. He leaned against one of the doors, panting as if he was at deaths door. He stood dressed in his finery, complete with a yellow and red stripped vest that he had buttoned up crookedly.

She shook her head and smiled at him. He had always been a funny man. “I thought you’d never come! I was about to leave.”

“I was besieged by my nephews. They would not let me go until we had played a full game of cricket. It’s a miracle I’m even standing!”

Georgiana came closer to him. “Is there anyone of our acquaintance near the stables?”

“No, no. Not a soul in sight. They’re all in the drawing room or in the West House. But Miss Lambe … are you certain? You can still change your mind.”

She took his hands and squeezed them. “My mind is quite fixed. I know Sidney will be angry, but he will understand eventually.”

“If you say so, Miss Lambe. He is bound to rage upon hearing the news …”

“Don’t tell him then,” she said, laughing. “Let my letter to Charlotte explain everything. And whatever you do, don’t tell him that it was you who sent Otis my proposition.”

Arthur’s smiled sheepishly. “I had to know he was worthy of you …”

“And what have you discovered?”

“That he cares for you,” he said thoughtfully. “And that your indomitable spirit will be more than a match for his failings.”

Georgiana chose not to dwell on the warning inherent in Arthur’s appraisal. Not least because part of her agreed with it. But the time for caution was done. Now was the time to act on what she wanted. And what she wanted … what she had always wanted … was Otis.

“We won’t have to keep secrets for long,” she assured him. “Sidney will be more than content once he is reunited with Charlotte.”

“I’m not sure it will be quite as easy as you believe …”

“It has to be!” Georgiana stubbornly insisted. “He will not bear to be parted from her when given the opportunity. Any more than I can bear to be parted from my dear Otis one moment longer!”

“Very well, Miss Lambe,” Arthur said. “Will you do me one favor before you leave?”

“Of course! Anything!”

“Will you trip the light fantastic with me one more time?”

She smiled widely before nodding in agreement. 

With usual aplomb, Arthur led her through the spins and turns of the reel in an ever faster rhythm, pulling on her arms and jumping up and down in between movements, until they were both holding on for dear life. Their hands tightly bound together, they spun quicker and quicker until Georgiana’s vision blurred and turned to a succession of grey and green and red.

Dimly, in the distance, she heard the clock strike once and then twice. It was nearly six o’clock.

As the orchestra brought the reel to an end, they slowed down, collapsing in each other’s arms, laughing and panting.

“I wish you all the happiness in the world, Miss Lambe,” he said, embracing her tightly.

Her arms wrapped around as much of him as she could grasp. “Thank you, Arthur. You’ve been very good to me.”

A few fir needles and red berries had fallen on his shoulder from the garlands that decorated the glass doors. She slowly brushed her hand over the material of his coat to remove them before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.

She left him standing on the terrace, watching over her like a large, cheerful angel as she ran down the stairs towards the courtyard pulling the hood of her cape over her head.

Her steps were hurried and her blood sang with excitement as she pushed forward towards her future.

***

Sir Charles William Wentworth, the first lord Babington and George’s grandfather, had built his grand house in haste, attempting to keep up with his political rival whose name had been largely consigned to history.

When he had first invited people to his grand Baroque style house, Sir Charles had been sorely disabused of the notion that he had ensured his place in society when his wealthy and influential guests let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he had committed the gravest sin of all … his house was out of fashion, dull and dreary and the ton subsequently snubbed any further attempt at advancement on his part.

But Sir Charles was not a man to be deterred and he quickly set about building a brand new house on the west side of his estate. This new edifice was built in the fashionable Palladian style that would, in time, become the most coveted home in the North of England and the most luxurious outside of Buckingham Palace.

And yet the family did not live there. Each night they would retire through a narrow and shabbily built corridor to the original west front which George called his home. The other part, the part that all the guests saw upon visiting the estate …That was: _“Hyde Park, my dear friend. We display ourselves like peacocks and pray it spares us the guillotine,”_ George would joke.

Sidney smiled. He had always much preferred the older house to the new. The rooms were smaller and not as finely furnished, but one could be at ease there.

As soon as he had returned from the hunt, he had left Eliza in her natural habitat, in the expansive eastern drawing room surrounded by local country types who were dazzled by her fashionable attire and charms. He had no doubt she would end the night with countless calling cards to add to her collection.

He had, instead, retreated to the quiet library in the old part of the house, having no desire to make empty conversation and put himself on display. He had planned on reading the newspaper and to hide away until the time came to make an appearance at the ball, but he had been distracted by the lively game occurring outside.

He watched through the curved Venetian window as Alice and Jenny ran across the courtyard and around the large stone urns that had been lit to provide light throughout the evening. Little Henry struggled to keep up with his sisters, his small legs stomping at the pink gravel beneath his feet.

The object of their hunt was hidden just behind the first line of pine trees. He could see the blue skirts of her dress just peeking through from behind a tree trunk. The same dress she had been wearing the night he had almost proposed to her …

The children must have spotted her too because they ran towards the trees, shouting and waving their arms. As soon as they reached her, Charlotte burst from her hiding spot, laughing.

She ran across the courtyard, with the children in pursuit. As they finally caught up with her, they started pulling on her skirts and arms, jumping up and down excitedly and almost tumbling her to the ground. She managed to regain her footing and lifted little Henry up, spinning with him.

He had not seen her this happy since the summer, he realized, and regret once again threatened to overcome him. That season had been all he would ever have of her and he had wasted half of it fighting and running away.

The door to the library creaked and he heard footsteps. It was Tom who remained standing in the doorway, with a strained look on his face.

“There you are, Sidney! You need to come to the drawing room immediately. There are so many influential and well placed people in attendance! A boon to Sanditon for certain!”

His hands balled into fists and he turned towards the window again, clinging to the image of Charlotte. “Attracting people to Sanditon is your job, Tom.”

“Yes,” his brother said, coming closer to him. “And your job is to handle its finances.”

A job he neither sought nor wanted, but this was not the time to mention it. “And you think I have been failing at it?”

“To be frank, as of late, yes.”

His jaw twitched and his eyes remained fixed on Charlotte who huddled closer with baby Henry near the fiery urn. “How so?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

“I have asked you repeatedly to talk to Mrs Campion about extending us the credit for the completion of the terrace apartments. Yet you have failed to do so even though you know the vital importance of having them ready …”

“The expenses of the terrace apartments would have been covered, Tom, had you ensured them as you were supposed to.”

“I have already accepted my part of the blame for that but …”

“But none of the consequences,” Sidney finished for him. “Those you left to me.”

Tom shook his head and headed for the drink cart. “My dear brother, I don’t understand your anger,” he said, pouring two glasses of brandy. “I have noted it for a few months now and I can’t for the life of me account for it. Sanditon is saved and you are reunited with the woman you’ve loved for a decade.” He came back at his side, handing him one the glasses. “You must allow yourself to be happy, Sidney.”

When he had first told his brother that he had asked for Eliza’s hand and he responded with excitement at the prospect of Sanditon being saved, he had ignored the remark. When he had demanded that he ask Eliza for money not once, but all through the course of his stay in London, he had understood that Tom knew exactly why he had done what he had done.

There was just one more matter that had remained unspoken and he was no longer in the mood to indulge Tom’s fragile feelings. “If you wish to know the reason for my anger, look out there,” he said, pointing towards the courtyard. “What do you see?”

Tom hesitated for a moment. “My children? With Miss Heywood?”

“What you see is my future,” he said, his eyes lingering on Charlotte as she carried Henry back towards the house, with Alice and Jenny clinging to her skirts.

He turned his back to the window. “That is: the future I could have had if you had just insured those damned apartments.”

“Sidney …”

“You have robbed me of my wife and my children,” he said, choking on the words. “And if you continue overreaching our finances, we will both end up in paupers prison. The work on the apartments will resume when we have the earnings to support it. Do not press this matter any further!”

His brother red faced and his mouth half open, a look of pain in his eyes. He had never been one for the hard truth.

Sidney could withstand it for only a moment before he dropped his head, feeling the familiar pangs of guilt overcome his anger slowly.

“Come …” he said after a time, ushering him towards the door. “Let’s see what patronage we can secure for Sanditon.”

***

No expenses had been spared for the ball that night. The Marble Saloon glimmered, bathed in the light of so many candles that Sidney wondered if Babington had left any available for the rest of London. The crystal chandleries cast shadows on the checkered marble floor below and the people dancing on it.

Despite the almost gargantuan size of the room, it still felt somewhat stifling. A few ladies had already made use of their smelling salts to counterattack the effects of the wax smoke and the grooms had opened the doors to the outside terrace, letting some much needed fresh air in.

Babington had, of course, hired the finest musicians in London and erected a special stage for them that covered the entirety of one side of the ballroom. Sidney had relented and had contracted their services for both the New Season and Midsummer balls in Sanditon, at Tom’s insistence.

As he danced with Eliza, he looked up to his brother standing on the upper level balcony, talking with two of Babington’s most prominent neighbors. They were elderly and rheumatic which made them ideal prospects for Dr Fuchs’ treatments. Tom seemed happy enough in their company, talking and moving his arms enthusiastically.

Sidney sighed in relief and returned his attentions to Eliza, counting his blessings that he had at least only one patron to please that night, instead of two. When the song had finished, he escorted her back to the tables that had been placed on the edge of the dancing floor.

Instantly, the acquaintances she had made during luncheon swarmed around her, eager to hear her thoughts on the latest London fashions. They pressed for his opinion as well, the younger girls in particular, and he gave them some amusing remarks about the Countess of Eaton’s peacock bonnet, which was so large and so abundant in feathers that a real peacock mistook her for a rival and attacked her right outside the Royal Pavilion or about the corset Lord Byron wore under his vest, which seemed to disappoint them somewhat.

It was enough for Eliza not to accuse him of being unsociable and, his task completed, he took his leave claiming a need to speak to Babington. In truth his desire was less for conversation, but rather convenient evasion as Babington and a few of the men had retreated to the adjoining billiards room

Crossing the ballroom proved difficult as he attempted to move past the crowds standing around the dance floor, the dancing couples and grooms carrying trays of assorted drinks. He was still a considerable distance away from the door when he saw Charlotte enter on Gillingham’s arm. He could not help but look at how her bare hand rested on Gillingham’s as he lead her towards the table where Mary and Diana were seated.

To everyone in attendance, she must have seemed a beautiful, fashionable young woman. But to him she did not look like herself. Her hair had been twisted into proper curls and tamed into place on top of her head. She was wearing a large ostentatious sapphire and pearl necklace that did not suit her at all and he thought he even detected some rouge. For a moment he imagined teasing her about it and her scrunching her nose the way she did whenever she grew angry with him. He even imagined removing that rouge one kiss at a time but of course that could not be.

Instead of heading for the door as he had intended, he remained next to the fireplace, watching her, suddenly feeling less at odds with his surroundings. Even the anger he had felt over the hunt had vanished, replaced by a desperate need to be near her.

She was smiling in that bright, lovely way of hers, chatting with his sister and Mary and he reasoned e could go talk to her. After all, she was talking to his family. No one would think it out of the ordinary.

“She is a vision tonight, is she not?”

Gillingham seemed to materialize at his side out of nowhere, although his attentions had been so focused on Charlotte, he might have been standing by his side for the entire duration of the evening and Sidney would not have noticed.

“How smooth her complexion appears in the candlelight. And the turn of her neck …those jewels adorn it very well indeed. And the form of her figure in that little muslin dress …”

“Enough!” Sidney said. “You will not speak of her in those terms. Charlotte is not unprotected, is that understood?”

Gillingham’s smiled slyly. “Forgive me. I forgot how fond you are of the lady.”

“Why all this needling, Andrew?” Sidney asked, turning his full attention on him. “What do you want?”

“Would it surprise you if I said _the truth_?”

Sidney scoffed. “The truth of all things … All that time spent in Italy and you’ve discovered religion, have you? Now you’ve come back a priest ready to take all of our confessions.”

“Rather make one of my own,” he said. “Concerning Miss Heywood that is.”

The music changed from the animated highland reel to a waltz as Sidney held his breath, waiting for Gillingham to continue.

“I must go. I have asked her for the first waltz. But if you truly wish to know my intentions, come to my room at twelve o’clock and I will reveal all,” he said, touching his shoulder. “I promise, old friend.”

Sidney watched as Gillingham went over to the table and took Charlotte’s hand. He watched as she curtsied and he bowed and he even watched as she placed her hand over his. But as he wrapped his arm around her waist, Sidney had to turn away. He refused to torture himself thus.

He started walking towards the terrace, abandoning the thought of billiards completely.

The cool, night air hit him as soon as he came out and he walked across the empty terrace, stopping at the stone bannister.

The humming of the party drummed on behind him as he stared into the darkness ahead and breathed in the sharp, winter air. The wind was blowing harshly, prickling his exposed skin. _It’s going to snow tonight_ , he thought.

The music changed from waltz to reel to cotillion and then back to reel again and yet he was still not ready to return even though he knew sooner or later, Eliza would notice him gone. He braced himself for it and decided to turn, only to be met with Charlotte standing in the entrance.

“Mr Parker,” she said, taking a step towards him. “Forgive me … I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He laughed softly. His ubiquitous Miss Heywood … “You could never intrude … Have you come to take the air?” he said, moving to the side, biding her to join him.

She seemed almost shy as she came by his side and all felt right with the world for a moment. Until she spoke.

“No … I saw you speaking to Mr Gillingham …”

She looked up at him with her large doe eyes, filled with something akin to hope or fear … he didn’t quite know and it twisted him that she had come all that way to speak to him of another man.

“What of it?” he asked, his voice hard and angry.

Charlotte was visibly taken aback, but she continued anyway. “Did he say why he was in London?”

She was wringing her fingers and looking at him apprehensively. Had she sent Gillingham to speak to him? Was all this some ploy to end on good terms with him the way she would no doubt have read in one of her novels?

“There’s nothing Mr Gillingham has to say that interests me.”

As Charlotte concealed a wounded expression and dropped her eyes, a harp began to strum in the ballroom behind them. It played a maudlin kind of song and soon a fragile sounding violin joined it. The sound instantly transported him back to the London assembly rooms where he had heard it last.

He remembered how natural it had felt to hold her in his arms as they danced and how certain he was then that is was in his arms that she belonged.

“Miss Heywood …” he whispered, wondering if she remembered it too. When she raised her eyes to look at him, he could see the same question plainly on her face.

_I do … Of course, I do._

“Sidney, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Eliza’s voice covered the music and as she came out onto the terrace, Charlotte stepped away from him. His fiancée came at his side and immediately took his arm.

“Miss Heywood,” she said. “You look particularly well tonight.”

Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself and lifted her chin as she faced them both. “Thank you,” she said before quickly adding: “If you’ll excuse me, it’s getting cold.” She curtsied and almost ran back inside.

Sidney’s eyes lingered on her, watching her disappear through the crowd before turning his attentions back on Eliza.

For a moment he feared the recriminations that she certainly must have harbored. Even by his estimation, he was guilty of all that she could accuse him of. But she only smiled.

“It is rather chilly,” she said, pressing herself against him. “Should we go inside? I’d like to retire for the night.”

He took a deep breath before smiling a tight, pained smile. “Of course.”

***

In years past, it had been a custom of Sidney’s to take a stroll down to the village during his stay at Wentworth. It was a bawdy, bright kind of place and the local inn housed some of the most interesting characters he had come across.

It was there that he had first heard the tales of the ghost that supposedly lived on the second floor of the big house, as the locals called it. A local doctor had once been called to the residence and swore he had seen a pale white woman with blood pouring from her neck wandering about the house.

The legend went that Sir Charles had been married in his youth to a woman who suffered from hysteria and, in a bid to rid himself of the burden, had murdered his wife in one of the rooms. He had gone on to marry the honorable Miss Carteret, who, despite her plain and awkward appearance, was wealthy enough to secure the ascension of his family.

It was all, of course, nonsense but highly amusing until you were caught of an evening, trapped in the middle of the dark corridor labyrinth that was Wentworth. If someone had told Sidney a Minotaur was hidden around the corner, he would not have had a hard time believing it.

Luckily, he had mastered the house’s secrets during his earlier visits so he managed to navigate them now as he led Eliza back to her room. Whether by design or chance, they had been assigned to different wings, which he could have rectified had he talked to Lady Babington but chose not to.

As he passed the clock on the entry way to the second floor, he couldn’t help but note that it was a quarter past eleven. _Only forty-five minutes left_ , he thought. It was only then, as he checked the third clock on his way upstairs that he realized he was going to go to Gillingham’s room after all.

“I hope you noticed how well I behaved to Miss Heywood,” Eliza said, looking at him from beneath her lashes. “And how she did not return the favour.”

He was tempted to tell her that Charlotte was far too clever to believe her honest in her compliments, but he remained silent. In good conscience, he could not truly fault her for her suspicions. They were justified, of course. He loved Charlotte and he could not think of a time when he would stop loving her.

As much as he attempted to avoid blame by telling himself he had not lied to Eliza, he had behaved dishonorably and he continued to do so. He had promised her a husband in exchange for money and he was falling short of his side of the bargain.

“I did notice. Thank you” he said, stopping in front of her room. He took her hands and tried to smile, as he looked at her. “I am well aware that I have not always behaved as I should have towards you, Eliza. I have been short tempered and less patient than I would have wished …”

She shook her head and put a finger over his lips, stopping him. The silk of her glove brushed against his jaw as she caressed it and he was reminded of the first time he had kissed her, behind his father’s house when her family had stayed with them in Sanditon for the first time. He was barely eighteen and his whole body had trembled in anticipation and fear that they would be discovered.

He had loved her once … Deeply … Perhaps he could resurrect that feeling again. In a moment of frenzy, he pulled her to him and kissed her the way he wished he had known how to kiss her all those years ago. He prodded with his teeth and the tip of his tongue against her own and he was granted access immediately as she wrapped her arms tightly around him and sighed.

But it was all in vain. The more he kissed her, the more the memory faded and he groaned in frustration, trying to keep hold of it. It was of no use. Eliza’s kiss was like being given salt water when dying of thirst.

He stepped back, releasing a tortured breath, hoping that she would mistake his reaction for restraint.

“Do you remember that time when we visited the Lake District with my family?” she asked, leaning against the wall, her mouth half open. “Remember how impossibly I behaved? I raged against the weather, and the insufferable walks, the terrible foot and the lumpy beds …”

He smiled. “Yes, I remember.”

“You bore it like a saint! The worse I treated you, the more you seemed determined to please me.”

She truly had been insufferable on that particular trip and there had been moments when he had been tempted to leave her in the middle of nowhere to fend for herself. He credited his stubbornness for carrying him through.

“Would it surprise you to know that I much prefer the way you behaved today?”

It should have but it didn’t. The more distant he became, the less interest he showed, the more she seemed to crave him. He wondered if she would have married him all those years ago after all if he had known that.

“You never have to pretend with me,” she whispered, coming closer to him. “You can be true to yourself. I will not be put off by it.”

True to himself? Was that what he had been all these months? The drunken ogre who raged at everyone and found little pleasure in anything around him? Was that who he was?

He took Eliza’s hands and removed them from his chest, dropping a dry kiss to her gloved hand. “It’s late. I will leave you.”

“Or you could stay …” She grabbed his hand and kept hold of it tightly. “Don’t look so shocked. It wouldn’t be the first time you woke up in the wrong bed in this house, would it?”

He could not fault her logic. It was a sensible offer and one that would put an end to his vacillations. If he truly wanted to cross the Rubicon, this would be the easiest and not wholly unpleasant way of doing it.

And yet he was surprised to find himself not even slightly tempted by the offer.

She cracked open the door to her room and looked over her shoulder. “Come, Sidney,” she said, stretching her hand to him, “we are engaged after all and I’m not a maid.”

He smiled as politely as he could. He could not give her love and it seemed even lust escaped him at the moment, but the least he could provide was civility. “You are right. I have found myself in the wrong bed in this house. But it’s the right bed I seek now … The one I will share with my wife.”

He bowed deeply to her, ignoring the way her face had turned to stone at his rejection and he left her, his eyes stealing a quick glance at the clock on his way to the stairs. It was thirty minutes to twelve.

***

From the window in the drawing room, Sidney watched the carriages trailing one after the other down the path, as most of Babington’s guests braved the weather and headed back towards their homes.

A snow storm raged outside and the wheels left sharp lines on the ground. Everything seemed to move slower, as people and horses advanced through the layers of newly fallen snow.

Time seemed to stand still as well as he checked the large clock to his left to see it remain a quarter of an hour short of its mark. He breathed deeply trying to calm himself and took another gulp of his scotch.

“That was the last of them,” Babington said, crossing the drawing room and coming towards him. He seemed to bring the winter chill with him and he was rubbing his hands together. “Pour me a glass, will you?”

Sidney did as he bid and handed it over as soon as he reached him. “Congratulations. The ball seems to have been a great success.”

Babington smiled. “It was all thanks to Esther,” he said, taking a sip of scotch. “Watching her play hostess tonight was … magnificent.”

His friend had always had the elevated position that Sidney could never aspire to, the connections and seat in parliament, as well as unlimited funds to do with as he wished. And yet Sidney had never envied him until that moment.

“So you recommend married life then?” he said.

Geroge’s smile seemed to falter for a moment. “For the most part … Women are … strange creatures. No matter how much you love them, it seems impossible to truly know their hearts.”

“Did anything in particular spark that remark?”

“Something Lady Denham said tonight about women having a tendency to care too much for people worth too little …”

There was little doubt in Sidney’s mind that Lady Denham was referring to her nephew, Edward, who reports had it would have been handed over to his creditors if not for a very timely and mysterious sum of money being bequeathed to him. Looking at the sudden frown that twisted his friend’s face, he had been thinking the same thing.

“What of you?” Babington asked, changing the subject.

“I am not married.”

“Not yet. But you will be soon unless you do something about it.”

“George …,” he groaned.

“You can deny it all you like, but I remember the way you looked at Miss Heywood at the Midsummer Ball. You still look at her the same way. Whenever she’s not hiding in the forest for fear of being seated next to you, that is.”

Sidney strained to smile, unable to challenge Babington’s assertion. “However I might look at her, it does not matter …”

“Are you sure? Will you be able to live with yourself if you let her go?”

“I will.” He drew a sharp breath before taking a gulp of scotch. “I must.”

As he finished speaking, the clock began to strike twelve and his heart suddenly raced. He placed his glass on the window sill. “It’s getting late,” he offered as explanation.

He turned to leave, but then stopped for a moment and put his hand on George’s shoulder. “Lady D has a way of creating more crisis than she resolves. There is only one way to be rid of doubt. Speak to your wife. Allow her the chance, at least, of explaining her actions.”

With that he left his friend and he started walking towards the upper level stairs. He did not know when he started walking faster and faster, but he caught himself jumping three stairs at a time in order to reach the corridor. Gillingham’s room was at the very end and he stopped for a moment to compose himself before knocking.

Moments passed and there was no answer. He heard muted, undefined sounds coming from inside and, finally, after Gillingham had made him wait long enough, he deemed to open the door.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, as Sidney entered.

The smell of cigars and smoke lingered in the air. There was a deadly silence in the room that unnerved him and he found it peculiar that the canopy curtains would be drawn shut around the bed.

“Cigar?” Gillingham offered, opening the ivory inlaid box on the tea table.

Sidney shook his head and came to sit on the sofa next to the fireplace. He had always preferred cigarettes to the thick leaf rolls. But he did not light one now. He figured he wouldn’t be there long enough to smoke it.

Gillingham leaned back into the armchair on the opposing side. “Excellent ball, was it not?”

“Gillingham, you’ve summoned me to your room to speak of Miss Heywood. I am here. Speak.”

“No need to be so curt. I thought we were both in need of some friendly conversation.”

“We are not friends.”

Gillingham laughed as he leaned forward and poured brandy into two glasses. He pushed one towards him across the lacquered table. “I forgot how long you can keep a grudge,” he said. “I admit it was a mistake on my part not telling you about Eliza’s engagement, but surely if you can forgive her after she abandoned you and … Didn’t she send you an invitation to the wedding? Even I thought that particularly cruel.”

Sidney sighed, aggravated that he had allowed himself to be tricked into coming to speak to him. As always, Gillingham was sprouting nonsense. “This is a very tiresome game you are playing, Andrew. And I’m in no mood to play it.”

He stood up to leave, but Gillingham stopped him.

“Forgive me,” he said, standing up as well. “My mind must have drifted to Eliza’s wedding as I am entertaining thoughts of matrimony myself.”

This could not help but draw Sidney’s interest and he stopped in the middle of the room.

“I thought since you were concerned with Miss Heywood’s welfare that you might like to know.”

Sidney balled his hands into fists and grit his teeth. “Charlotte would never have you.”

“I disagree. I’m very certain she would accept. In fact she’s given me proof definite of it this afternoon.” As his eyes drifted towards the canopy covered bed, every nerve in Sidney’s body was alerted. “I have to say for a maid, she was an enthusiastic …”

In a moment, Sidney had crossed the space between them and almost lifted Gillingham off his feet, as he pushed him into the fireplace. “Don’t you dare speak of her that way!”

Gillingham tried to push him off, but Sidney’s hand went around his neck as his fist crushed into his abdomen.

They staggered back, intertwined, as Gillingham tried to hit him in the ribs. The blows hardly seemed to register, over the rage that had robbed him of reason. He struck him square on the jaw and moments later heard the crack of his nose.

As Gillingham lost his footing, he pulled on Sidney’s lapel and they both tumbled to the ground, next to the bed. Sidney stood over him, his fist crashing into Gillingham’s face again and again.

“Sidney, enough!” Andrew begged, going from hitting back to covering his face.

It was only as he realized that his knuckles were bloodied that he stopped. He stared at his hands in shock his whole body trembling. He finally pushed himself off of the man beneath him and leaning against the side of the bed.

“I’m done,” he said, between pants.

Bruised and battered, Gillingham stood up and wandered in a daze to the adjoining room. Dimly, Sidney heard splashes of water.

As his mind began to focus again, his eyes lingered on a piece of fabric, just peaking from beneath the canopy material. The light blue color drew his attention and he leaned over to grab it, pulling out a pair of long gloves.

He turned them on every side, staining them with blood, as he recalled with perfect clarity that Charlotte hadn’t worn her gloves that night.

So she had been there … Perhaps the rest of Gillingham’s tale was false, but that part was true. The realization struck him with such force, his whole body seemed to reel from it.

Damn him! Damn him to all nine circles of hell! He had tricked her. Took advantage of Charlotte’s trusting nature, her gratitude at being rescued by him and seduced her without any thought for her reputation or heart.

His fingers wrapped around the gloves tightly, crumpling them, trying to contain himself from standing up and finishing what he had started minutes ago.

“Mr Parker …”

He turned his head immediately at the sound of her voice and found Charlotte standing in the doorway, a horrified expression on her face. He looked her up and down, unable to find the words to speak. _What have you done, Charlotte?_

She lifted her arm, before she spoke, showing him the letter in her hand. “It’s Georgiana … She’s eloped with Mr Molyneux.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your enthusiastic response to this story. It really means a lot to me!
> 
> When I first got the idea for this, I decided to involve my tumblr followers into it and asked them to contribute small ideas that they would like included in the story. I called them fan placements. In this part I have added the Arthur/Georgiana kiss for @kitten1618x and Sidney finding Charlotte's ballroom gloves for @sweetrupturedlight. 
> 
> Stay tuned for part 5, coming tomorrow at about the same time.


	5. When We Two Parted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head between Charlotte and Sidney as they race desperately in a bid to stop Georgiana’s imprudent match. Meanwhile, Sanditon’s future is once again put in jeopardy by some unexpected developments ...
> 
> PS: we're almost at the finish line, guys! thank you so much for all your kind words and for reading! See you tomorrow!

**Part 5**

**_When We Two Parted_ **

**_By Lord Byron_ **

_They name thee before me,_

_A knell to mine ear;_

_A shudder comes o'er me--_

_Why wert thou so dear?_

_“Dearest Charlotte,_

_Do not be alarmed. I am well and reunited with the man who has always and will always own my heart. We are going to the one place in the world that harbors all lovers and we will never be parted from this day on._

_Oh, my dear friend! I can hardly write for the excitement!_

_Yours,_

_Georgiana … soon to be … Molyneux. ”_

The wind whooshed through the carriage doors and the windows were frosted over from the cold and the snow. The interior, however, was not uncomfortable. As soon as she had declared in no uncertain terms that she was coming in search of Georgiana, Sidney had ordered the carriage lined in fur around the doors and a large metal box was placed inside with burning coals.

The measures seemed to alleviate Mary’s objections to her going and Charlotte couldn’t help but be moved that he had taken the time to ensure her comfort, despite the urgency of their situation.

She wished she could return the favor but unfortunately looking at his wounded expression, there was little she could do. The scowl on his face almost hid the sad look in his eyes, but she could see it clearly enough and it broke her heart.

She endeavored to try though, as she undertook the task of cleaning his bruised knuckles with her handkerchief and some water.

She tried to keep her hands from trembling and her belly from fluttering as her fingers brushed over his skin and she bit her lip to stop herself from gazing up at him. She could feel his eyes measuring her and it seemed to set her aflame.

_It’s done_ , she thought. _He knows_ … Mr Gillingham’s face told her as much when he came out of his bathing room. She blamed herself for the incident and for Sidney’s reaction. If she had not been such a coward, if she had sought him out after the hunt or told him when she had had the chance at the ball, none of this would have happened. But she feared he would think her a liar, or worse, that it would reveal that he did love Mrs Campion after all.

As always, Sidney managed to remain a mystery. She could not make out what his violent reaction towards Mr Gillingham meant. On the surface, it seemed to signal that he was hurt by Mrs Campion’s betrayal, but did that mean he still loved her? Did it even mean that he had loved her at all, when he had told her he did not on the cliffs?

Charlotte’s mind was assaulted by questions that she was not brave enough to ask, but through it all a strange sort of hope began to take root in her heart. He now knew the truth and, despite her confusion, she knew that betrayal would not be something he could readily accept. Perhaps he would break off his engagement …

The thought caused her to shiver, from fear or excitement, she didn’t quite know. There was still the matter of Tom’s debts of course, but perhaps Sidney would find another way to help his brother. He was so clever and so determined.

Perhaps they could organize another event. The regatta had been such a success and she was certain she could think of something even better. Perhaps she could enlist Lady Susan’s help if she managed to explain why she had not written or visited while she was in London …

Sidney shifted in his seat and she realized that she had stopped cleaning his wounds and was holding on to his hand tightly. She relaxed her grip and looked up to find him staring at her intently.

“I’m sorry,” she said, attempting to smile.

“For what?” he asked in a tone that seemed to harbor some anger.

“I … ” She shook her head and sighed. “Never mind …”

“No. Don’t stop now. I’ve been waiting for you to say something since we left the house.”

He was angry. There was no doubt about that. The recrimination in his eyes was proof enough of it. Somehow he had guessed she knew about Mr Gillingham and Mrs Campion’s liaison and blamed her for not telling him.

“I should have told you, I know …” she said, dropping her head. “I never wanted for you to find out that way. In fact, I …”

She had meant to explain that she had not gone against him during the hunt, as he most certainly thought, but was trying to ensure Mr Gillingham wouldn’t reveal his dealings with Mrs Campion in full view of everyone.

But he never gave her the opportunity. He withdrew his hand from her grasp forcefully and leaned away from her.

“Do you love him?” he asked, his face suddenly turned to stone.

For a moment she thought she had misheard. “What?”

“I can’t imagine you putting yourself at risk in that manner unless you were in love. Are you?”

Her stomach twisted painfully and she stared at him in disbelief. No! This was all wrong. “You think I …”

Sidney sighed and reached inside his pocket. He took out her light blue gloves and stretched his hand.

Charlotte looked at them, unable to speak or even think. She had searched and searched for the gloves the night of the ball and for the life of her she could not recall where she had misplaced them. She must have dropped them when she ran out of Mr Gillingham’s room.

Without thought she reached for them, her eyes lingering on the blood stains that stood out on the light colored material. When she tried to take them, his fingers tightened, pulling at her hand and forcing her to look at him.

“How could you be so careless? So thoughtless? Don’t you see what he is?”

She managed to take the gloves and she slid across the cushioned bench, to the opposing corner, unable to withstand his accusations. The fragile hope that she had been harboring moments before crumbled right in front of her as he went on.

“I should have known … I should have seen it at the hunt when you chose to humour his games.”

“Yes! Games! That’s all you care about,” she shouted back at him. “What are my thoughts and feelings to you or Mr Gillingham? Just something to fight over when you are tired of fighting over Mrs Campion. Well, I pray you leave me out it. This has nothing to do with me!”

“You have never been foolish. Don’t start now. You know full well what I feel for you. If you think he could ever …”

“I don’t know what your feelings are and they are of no importance.” She spat the words out, managing to silence him. 

She could only see half of his face, but it was enough to ascertain how much she had wounded him. Despite her anger, as she spoke again, her voice softened: “You once told me I couldn’t distinguish between my opinion and the truth …”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

When she gave no reply, he came to sit in front of her. “Charlotte, tell me! If there is another explanation for all of this, please speak it!”

His eyes were frantically searching her for answers and, as he took her hand, the touch sent a shock through her entire body.

_No!_ He had brought her to the brink of hope too many times. She wouldn’t allow him to do it again. “You have no right to expect an explanation, Mr Parker,” she said, pulling her hand away. “Or to recriminate me. You who made the choice for both of us. It is not for you to judge how I chose to mend the heart you broke!”

She had expected him to rage or to turn away from her. Instead, she saw him close his eyes against the onslaught of her attack. When he opened them again, his anger had disappeared, replaced by the same warmth and softness that always undid her. “Charlotte …” he said, his voice low and pained.

When he reached to take her hand again, she barely managed to pull away. She pressed herself against the cushions and looked outside the window, although she could not see anything for the snow storm. “Enough,” she said. “Enough now.”

***

It had been a miserable night. She and Sidney spent the first few hours at opposing ends, staring out equally obstructed windows. But as time passed, her resolve began to crumble. She was not sure she could endure him thinking she had compromised herself with Mr Gillingham.

_How could you be so careless … so thoughtless …_ The words rang in her ears all through the night as she recalled her behavior in his room on the night she had arrived in London. Perhaps that was the reason why he was so quick to believe what Mr Gillingham had claimed …The thought tormented and angered her in equal measure and she determined to resent him for it, although one look at him from across the carriage quickly made her falter.

Finally, after stopping twice to change horses and give the driver some respite from the cold, she had relented and stretched across the bench, falling asleep almost instantly.

She didn’t know for how long she had slept, but she awoke to the rocking of the carriage and thuds coming from outside. Her first instinct was to snuggle under the furs she had wrapped herself in, keeping her hands tightly to her chest.

But as the noise continued, she slowly opened her eyes. The inside of the carriage was dark. The only thing she could see were the burning coals in the metal box placed on the floor. And she was alone.

“Sidney …” she whispered.

Another thud and she flinched, jumping up and holding the furs tightly to her chest as if to protect herself. All was still for a moment until a gloved hand wiped across the window in front of her. The light of a lantern streamed inside, hurting her eyes and making her squint.

As the light moved to the side, she saw, to her relief, that it was Sidney who was outside. His entire face had reddened from the cold and steam was coming out his mouth as he did his best to remove the ice from the carriage.

When he opened the door, the cold air hit her instantly, making her tremble and she tightened her grip on the furs.

“Good morning,” he said, in an even tone.

Was it morning? It was so dark outside, she could hardly tell. “Good … morning.” She turned her face from him, busying herself with pinning the strands of hair that had fallen loose from her bun. “”Why have we stopped?

“We’re in Gretna Green,” he said.

“Oh! Should we not go to the church?”

Sidney smiled. “We are in front of it … In a manner of speaking.” He stepped back and raised the lantern.

She could see a large watermill behind him, half covered in snow. “I may never have been to Scotland, Mr Parker, but I believe I know the difference between a smithy and a church.”

“It’s the blacksmiths that marry you here, not the priests.”

She was still confused, but he gave her no opportunity to inquire further.

“I’ve sent the driver to the inn to get some sleep. I suppose there’s no point in asking you to do the same?”

“I came here for Georgiana and I intend to be here when …”

He nodded and closed the door to the coach before she had a chance to finish, leaving her ready to scream in frustration

“Insufferable! Presumptuous! Arrogant!”

As she ran out of appropriate insults, she sighed and threw the furs away.

As minutes passed in complete silence, she realized she did not know where he had gone or if he would be back. She made an attempt to open the door and walk outside, but without the lantern it was hard to make out even where to step, let alone ascertain her surroundings.

She sunk back into the cushions, determined to let him know just how rude and conceited he was behaving. And when he finally came back and opened the door, she turned to do just that only to be greeted by the sight of Sidney Parker holding a tin pot and cup in one hand and a cloth bundle in the other.

“Breakfast,” he said simply, putting them inside the carriage.

She could smell the freshly baked scones through the cloth and her stomach rumbled, reminding her she had barely touched her food the night before. She quickly undid the knot to reveal six scones, a tin of clotted cream and one of jam and a knife.

“Thank you,” she said, looking up at him and breaking into a smile, all anger forgotten.

He nodded and turned to leave. His face and lips had turned almost livid from the cold and his coat was covered in frozen droplets of water.

“Would you care to join me?” she said, sliding further down the bench to make room for him. “I can’t finish all of this on my own.”

He hesitated for a moment but eventually he climbed in, resting his head on the back of the bench and sighing in relief. He must have been exhausted …

“You need some tea,” she said, reaching out for the pot quickly. She misjudged how hot the tin was and burned herself. She withdrew her hand quickly, hissing and sucked on her finger to soothe the pain.

Sidney shook his head. “Let me.”

As he began to pour the tea, she did her best to split the scones into two equal parts. “I suppose you prefer the cream on top of the jam?” she asked, knowing that was the London custom.

“As any proper Englishman should.” He took a big gulp of tea and wrapped his hands around the cup for warmth.

“Only if you’re a pampered Londoner, you mean,” she retorted even though she preferred her cream tea the same way.

She handed him the scone loaded with jam and cream as he gave her cup. She drank half of it instantly and took a big bite out of the pastry, enjoying the blend of the strong black tea and sweet jam and cream. She handed him the cup as soon as she finished. “More please.”

As they continued to exchange food and drink, Charlotte grew more at ease, humming contently and licking her lips.

“It just occurred to me…” she said, frowning. “How can we be certain Georgiana and Otis aren’t already here? And already married?”

“No … I inquired at the inn and they haven’t been seen. They would hardly pass unnoticed. Most likely they were delayed on the road.” He sighed and took another gulp of tea, muttering under his breath. “He can’t even plan an elopement properly …”

Charlotte laughed. “Am I to understand you are an expert on matters of elopement?”

Sidney did not share her mirth. Instead he grew serious as his eyes fixed on hers. “I considered it once …” he finally said.

Charlotte’s smile faded as he made her stomach flutter in that familiar and not altogether unpleasant way. “Oh …” she said, biting her lip. “And why didn’t you?”

“She deserved better,” he said, forcing her to look at him. “And if I didn’t know that, then I wasn’t worthy of her.”

Charlotte blushed under the intensity of his gaze, her entire body trembling and as much as she tried to tell herself that he was talking about Mrs Campion, deep in her heart, she knew he was talking about them.

“You’ve always been worthy …” she whispered.

“You can say that? After everything I’ve done? After what I said last night?” He regarded her with the same tormented expression form the night before. “Forgive me … Please …”

Charlotte smiled sadly. “Do you realize that we have spent most of our acquaintance apologizing to each other? Perhaps that was our warning …”

“It’s not the only thing we spent it on …” His eyes drifted across the planes of her face until settling on her lips, making them tingle.. “I should have never spoken to you as I did last night. I had no right, I know. I hope you do not doubt me when I say that you will always have my … admiration and respect. I know you cannot feel the same way for me … That through my own actions I have gained your resentment and scorn …”

In the face of his earnest and pained confession, she was unable to lie to herself any longer and she surrendered to their shared feelings as a dull ache spread across her bones.

“You are wrong,” she said. “I’ve never resented you. Even through all the fights and the misunderstandings … You are the best man I know.” Her voice cracked and she took a deep breath trying to contain her emotions. “Perhaps it would have been easier if I had thought you vicious or dissolute, but I cannot deny what I know. And I know your heart. It is kind and generous and brave. I’ve only ever wanted the best for it.”

As he stared at her in shock, for a moment, she worried that she had been too forthcoming. But slowly, the grim, ashen expression on his face lifted and a new sort of light emerged in his eyes.

That, at least, she could do for him.

When he reached for her hand, she did not pull away, instead allowing his fingers to caress her skin and grasping with her own in return.

That she did for herself.

It was only a stolen moment, broken too soon as they were alerted to the sound of horses from outside.

The sun was rising over an assaulted world. Patches of dirty white snow littered the courtyards and streets all around them. Most of it had melted into ugly puddles of muddy water that had then half frozen over.

Sidney helped her out of the carriage and they stood to the side as a donkey pulled cart transported a worse for wear Georgiana and Otis into the village, amongst sacks of grain.

“It seems Gretna Green is not Elysium after all,” Sidney said.

“Be kind,” Charlotte admonished him. “And try to remain calm.”

He smiled as he looked at her. “Perhaps I might.”

Charlotte couldn’t help but be struck by the irony of their situation. Here they were, waiting to talk two people out of doing what they themselves might have done at one time if given the opportunity.

She had to admit that part of her was rooting for Georgiana and Otis. Someone, at least, should end this entire ordeal happily married.

***

Sidney had been 21 when he had arrived in Antigua. He was a wretch, a gambler and a drunk. He had already come close to ruining himself, if his brother hadn’t paid his debts, and the specter of Eliza loomed large even as he sailed across the world to forget her.

He had gone there to make his mark, a fortune large enough to dwarf even Mr Campion’s, but as soon as he stepped off the boat, he found himself in the nearest tavern where he drank all night and lost the little money he had on him.

He awoke the next day to the man who had taken all of his money offering him a job. From that day on, John Lambe had taken him under his wing, slowly rebuilding him into some semblance of a decent man.

Perhaps it was because he had no sons of his own and Sidney had lost his father a few months before, but he had never known a truer friend or entrusted someone with so much of his heart as he did Georgiana’s father.

As he looked at his daughter now, he remembered John Lambe’s patience most of all and endeavored to practice the same.

Her clothes were soaked and she had not slept a wink all night, after she and Mr Molyneux had been tricked out of carriage, money and jewelry by the coach driver he had hired in London. Between the lost valuables and the money Sidney had given the farmer who had fed and transported them, more than five hundred pounds had been wasted on her romantic adventure.

He tried not to think of the cost while he took them to the inn for some much needed nourishment and he tried to keep calm as Georgiana insisted all through the meal that she would marry Otis regardless of what he had to say.

He had left Mr Molyneux in Charlotte’s care and retreated to the drawing room to talk with Georgiana in private, but as he crossed the floor and sat next to her, he found it hard to know where to start.

She was sitting arms crossed and sulking, shooting him daggers, not unlike the way she used to sit at dinner whenever he had been invited to her father’s house. She had been smaller then and much easier to please as he always made sure he had sweets with him as tribute. He supposed that would not do now.

“I had hoped we had moved beyond this,” he said. “That in the months we’ve spent in London, I had earned a bit of your trust.”

“You have,” she said.

“Then why do this? Why run away instead of talking to me?”

Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Because I knew what you were going to say. That he wasn’t worthy of me. That I needed to take my place in polite society ...”

“It’s what you father wanted for you. It’s why he traveled to London in the first place despite his illness.”

Georgiana’s face hardened and she scoffed, looking away from him. “What he wanted was a white daughter …”

“What?”

“You heard me! He thought if he sank all that money into my inheritance and if by some miracle I’d marry a lord or a count or whatever it was, then perhaps people would stop seeing my black skin. But they don’t, do they? Even you must admit that after Lady Denham’s remarks … or Mrs Campion’s.”

Her chin trembled despite her attempts at stoicism and slowly tears started streaming down her face. She had never seemed more of a child in need of affection than at that moment and, without thought, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Georgiana, your father loved you.”

“No! He didn’t!” she said, pulling away from him and wiping at her eyes furiously. “How could he love me and keep people like me as slaves?”

Sidney opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Instead, he remembered the first time John had taken him to a slave market. He could still feel the heavy atmosphere and the way the people being paraded around the stalls seemed to dig holes into him with their eyes.

He wondered then how John withstood it, even as children were being dragged away screaming. He had said that they needed to find another way of trading the slaves, a better, more humane way. And for a time, in his blinding greed for advancement and riches, Sidney had taken comfort in those words.

“You don’t understand …” Georgiana said. “No one can … Except Otis.”

She sounded broken and it filled him with shame. His desperate need to prove Eliza wrong for leaving him, to redeem himself in the eyes of his family and even to make John Lambe proud … He had used all of it as excuses for continuing with the sugar trade.

It took almost a year for the hallow eyes to finally haunt even his dreams and he walked into John’s office one morning and announced he was leaving on the first boat. He had never seen him angrier or more disappointed. Even after he had moved to London, he refused to see him, which was why to this day he still didn’t understand why he had made him Georgiana’s guardian.

There were a great many things that escaped him, it seemed. Except for one, perhaps … “I can’t argue with that, Georgiana,” he finally said. “I don’t understand what you have been through and I am sorrier than you will ever know for my part in it.”

For the first time in their conversation, she looked at him with something akin to civility and he decided to go on.

“What I do know is how it feels to think you are seen for the first time, loved and wanted for who you are.”

“That is exactly how Otis makes me feel.”

He nodded. “Sometimes it’s just an illusion, you know … Just pretense. It’s only later that we see if for what it was. When we’re older and meet someone else that can love us enough not to hurt us.”

“I don’t want someone else! I want Otis!”

Sidney couldn’t help but laugh at her stubbornness. “You’re very young, Georgiana and marriage is a very serious undertaking. Why not wait a while? I promise to consent to Mr Molyneux courting you if it’s what you wish.”

She looked surprised at his proposition. “Everyone will know about the elopement by now. Aren’t you worried how my remaining unmarried might reflect on you? What about Mrs Campion’s feelings on the subject?”

“I’m not worried, if you must know,” he said. “And neither should you. Whatever happens, I will take care of it.”

It took a few moments for her to fully believe him, but eventually she grinned at him, almost making him believe he had convinced her.

“It was a valiant effort, Sidney,” she said, standing up. “Charlotte will be very proud. But I came here to marry Otis and I’m marrying him.”

Sidney groaned in frustration, suddenly feeling as if his head was going to explode. “Georgiana! Why must you be so stubborn?”

“I am not stubborn! I’m in love! You should have some understanding for that,” she said. “Can you honestly tell me that if somehow you could marry Charlotte this very moment, you’d choose to wait?”

Sidney closed his eyes and sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple, refusing to answer her question.

“Come on then,” she said, pulling on his arm and dragging him to his feet. “Someone has to walk me down the aisle.”

“You’re really going to force me to watch a blacksmith marry you?”

She nodded as she took his arm. “Unless you decide to propose to Charlotte. Then we could share him.”

She was a cruel and unreasonable girl, he decided, and she looked very pretty in her wet, muddied clothes as she stood hand in hand with Otis Molyneux, in the small and dank smithy.

The blacksmith still had his apron on and his hands were covered in soot. He butchered his way through the vows in a thick Scottish accent that he could barely make out and nearly fell asleep halfway through. Not that either bride or groom noticed as they stared at each other, smiling from ear to ear.

“With this ring I marry ya’,” he said, waiting for them to exchange the rings that he conveniently also offered for sale within his reputable establishment.

“I worship ya’ with my body,” he continued, making Georgiana giggle, “and share all my wordly goods with ya’.” 

As Georgiana and Otis did their best to repeat the words, without bursting out laughing, Sidney turned to Charlotte, who was standing at his side. “Am I doing the right thing? Allowing them to marry?”

She looked up at him, with her big, kind eyes and took a breath before answering. “Yes, I believe you are. While you were speaking to Georgiana, Mr Molyneux spent his time confessing his undying love for her to me. Whatever else he may be, in that he is honest.”

“Still a romantic then?” he asked, jokingly.

He cursed himself for the joke instantly as her smile faded and she turned sad.

“I don’t think so,” she confessed softly. “I used to think love was enough to resolve any problem, fix any flaw, survive any obstacle. But I was being naïve, as you well warned me … I suppose I still think love has its merits … despite the pain it might cause.”

Her words cut through him like daggers and reality came crushing back just as the blacksmith struck the anvil to signal the ending of the ceremony.

The whole of the morning, as they waited for Georgiana and Otis and later as they made what preparations they could for their wedding, it all had been a willful sort of make-believe. For a few hours they could exist as the lovers and friends that they could have been, without worry or thought for what their own future had in store for them.

That fragile peace was gone now and Elysium faded into oblivion, as the distance between them grew once again.

***

They had traveled for the better part of a day and night, but finally the carriage was racing across the Sanditon cliffs. The sea wind howled through the nooks and crannies in high pitch sounds, accompanying the light snoring of Georgiana and Otis who had both fallen asleep as soon as the carriage had left the inn where they had taken breakfast.

Charlotte had attempted to do the same but found she couldn’t. The closer she got to Sanditon, the more she shivered and griped her skirts tightly, as she found it harder and harder to keep still and take a deep breath.

She had dreamed and longed for Sanditon all through the autumn. She had walked its streets every night and traced the outlines of the coves and the cliffs with her mind’s eye every day, fearing she would forget otherwise. And now that she was here, she barely dared brave a look out the window, to the sea, fearing the memories that would come crashing down on her.

Sidney was sitting in front of her, his eyes fixed firmly on the window. All the ease and brightness in his face had disappeared, little by little, since the wedding ceremony and he was now looking as grim and gloomy as she had ever seen him.

Despite being the one to propose the trip to Sanditon, in a bid to salvage Georgiana and Otis’ reputation by organizing a breakfast reception away from London, he did not relish the stay either.

She found herself wishing they could return to Gretna Green. For a short time, everything else seemed to disappear there and all that mattered was that they were together. She had felt so certain of him there and of what they both felt.

Sanditon brought with it the return of the painful doubts that had plagued her since the moment they had said their good-byes on the cliffs. And she found herself as tormented as she had been all those months ago.

Even more so now, harboring the secret of Mr Gillingham and Eliza Campion. She knew she needed to tell him and she feared what that would mean. Revealing the truth might ensure her happiness, but it might also mean the ruin of Tom and his Sanditon project. Would Sidney find it a fair compensation? Would he be able to live with himself or would he grow to resent her as time went by?

As the carriage entered the town, she finally braved a look outside the window and she was struck by the changes. There was freshly shed snow on the new cobbled streets and the roof tops of the shops along the pier. Most of them were empty but she could almost imagine the hive of activity and excitement one could find there on a summer’s eve.

The carriage veered to the right towards the heart of the town and Charlotte caught a glimpse of the foundations of Mr Stringer’s pagoda. It would be a fine structure, once built.

They raced past the terrace apartments and Charlotte’s stomach twisted in knots. There was no sign of the fire wreckage any longer. There was scaffolding all across the building, which had been erected in polished white stone, columns and statues adorning its façade. It was a beautiful, elegant design, worthy of the remarkable resort town Tom envisioned Sanditon as.

She could almost laugh at the quaint plans she had made on the ride to Gretna Green. All small and unrealistic, dwarfed by what Eliza Campion had offered Sidney and his family. She had given them the chance to mark in brick and mortar the better world Sidney had spoken about during their first argument.

Charlotte had nothing to give that could compete with that …

The carriage grinded to a halt in front of Trafalgar House, rousing Georgiana and Otis from their slumber.

“Are we there yet?” Georgiana whined, before she opened her eyes. Her mouth twisted as she gazed out the window. “It’s even more dreary and dull than it was in the summer.”

“Not so dull at the lake as I recall,” Otis said, taking her hand and kissing it. “How about an afternoon stroll, Mrs Molyneux?”

“No afternoon stroll,” Sidney said bluntly, before Georgiana had a chance to reply. “Not until after the breakfast reception.”

Georgiana rolled her eyes. “I still don’t understand who you think we’re going to fool with that. As if the news of the elopement hasn’t spread across Wentworth like wildfire.”

“It still won’t hurt to make the attempt,” Charlotte intervened, seeing Sidney start to lose his patience. “People will hear of the breakfast and then some will assume the wedding took place in Sanditon. Everyone knows that the rules of conduct are more relaxed in the seaside resorts.” She tried to sound as knowledgeable as she could, remembering her father’s words. “Still … better Sanditon than Gretna Green.”

Sidney’s eyes softened slightly as he looked at her before they turned dull again and he opened the door.

“Wait! ” Georgiana said.” Shouldn’t we pull our cloaks over our heads so we go undiscovered?” She and Otis burst out laughing.

Sidney sighed, getting out of the carriage. “That won’t be necessary. Just try and stay out of trouble for an entire day if it’s not too much to ask.”

As Sidney helped Charlotte out of the carriage and Otis and Georgiana followed, the house servants must have been alerted to their presence because two of them came rushing out to greet them, followed closely by Tom and Mary.

Mary smiled at them warmly. “Welcome! Come in,” she said. “What a journey you must have had!”

Tom, on the other hand, was red in the face and his eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets. “Yes, yes,” he said, flailing his arms and coming straight for Sidney. “I must speak to you, brother!”

“Tom!” Mary reprimanded him. “Stop and greet our guests properly.”

Tom stopped for a moment, looking around and bowing slightly. “Forgive me. Welcome everyone. Mary will take care of you. Sidney and I have urgent business to attend to.” He grabbed hold of Sidney’s shoulders and dragged him inside.

Charlotte watched Sidney’s frame disappear down the hallway, towards Tom’s library and a sharp pain settled in her chest as the thought occurred to her that she might never see him again.

“Come,” Mary said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”

Always the perfect host, Mary managed to send Georgiana and Otis to their rooms to wash and rest before supper in under an hour.

Charlotte, however, refused the room, feeling very uneasy in the Parker household.

She had never felt more of a stranger than sitting in their drawing room. Her mind drifted as she stared at the fireplace and she remembered walking into the room to find all the Parker family embracing, as they celebrated Sidney’s luck at winning Mrs Campion’s hand.

Minutes dragged by, to the monotonous ticking of the hallway clock. Mary tried to focus her energies on the tea, but she kept stealing glances over her shoulder at the closed library door. There were no sounds coming from inside and the silence grew more and more oppressive. 

“Something is very wrong,” Mary said. “Tom’s been in a state since receiving his correspondence in the morning.” Her hand trembled as she poured the tea, spilling it on the table cloth. “Damn!”

“I’ll do it.” Charlotte said, taking the tea pot from her hands. “Did he not give a reason for his worries?”

“He said I was imagining things and that everything was alright. But he’s lying …He’s been doing a lot of that lately.”

Charlotte chose to ignore Mary’s words and smile instead. “Don’t worry. Mr Parker is here now. He’ll put Tom’s mind at ease, I’m sure.”

“How many more times do you think Sidney will be able to save him? As it is, he’s paid very dearly for Tom’s mistakes.”

Charlotte sighed and dropped her eyes, disappointed at the ever growing list of advantages she could attribute to the bargain Sidney had struck. She bit her lip and asked what she had wanted to since they had traveled together. “When we were on our way to Wentworth, you mentioned something about Mr Parker fighting …”

“Yes … It’s something he picked up when he was younger, before he left for Antigua, but this autumn it’s become a problem again. I don’t think I’ve seen him without bruises since the summer …” Mary took a sip of tea, gripping the cup tightly to stop herself from trembling. “Sidney doesn’t speak of his pain. He tries to conceal it and ends up causing himself a lot of harm.”

Charlotte wondered how much more harm Sidney would inflict on himself if he was the cause of his brother’s ruin. … _I cannot bear to see him suffer when I have the means to help him._

Esther’s words rang in her ears and for the first time she could grasp their true meaning. She had gotten it so very wrong! It was not Eliza who was Sidney’s Edward but Tom. Telling him about Mrs Campion’s betrayal altered nothing. Despite it all, as long as she held the fate of his brother and Sanditon in her hands, Sidney would go through with their engagement.

The only thing she would achieve by revealing the truth was to cause him more misery. Not only would he marry someone he did not love, but he would do so knowing that she had lied to him.

“Mr Parker will overcome this. I’m certain of it,” she said.

“He seems a lot better now that you’re here,” Mary said, taking her hand. “Did you two discuss your situation?”

Charlotte took a sharp breath, trying to contain herself. “We’ve made our peace,” she said, feeling the familiar dull ache taking over.

Mary stood poised to inquire further but Charlotte was spared the ordeal as one of the footmen walked into the drawing room. “Forgive me, Mrs Parker, but there’s a gentleman outside, asking for Miss Heywood.”

“What gentleman?” she said, wondering how anyone would even know she was in Sanditon.

“Mr Gillingham, Miss.”

***

The sunny sands of the beach that she had trailed all through summer were gone, covered by layers of white snow and blown in all directions by the harsh winds. The waves rose from a tumultuous sea, crushing against the shore, splashing sprays of freezing water far and wide.

In the distance, Charlotte could see the bathing machines, tiny red dots pressed up against the pier wall. They looked abandoned, half covered in snow, the paint already peeling off.

It made her desolate and forlorn, already regretting the decision to accept Mr Gillingham’s offer to walk into town. She could hardly stand being near him, after the horrible things he had invented about her and the ill will he certainly must be harboring against Sidney.

Still she could not refuse him. Mr Gillingham had, at great risk to himself, saved her life and she could not readily forget that. Perhaps there was some goodness in him after all …

They descended from the streets onto the beach, in silence, the howling of the galemaking it hard to speak or hear. The snow mingled with the sand, slashing at her face and hands.

“Thank you for agreeing to walk with me, Miss Heywood,” he said, as they ventured closer to the sea. “I don’t think Sidney would have appreciated having me in his brother’s house.”

“No, I don’t think he would,” she said, looking at him. The ugly gash on his nose had turned almost black as it healed and the entire area around his eyes was bruised and swollen. 

“I wanted to apologize for my implications that night and for the dishonesty with which I approached you when we first made our acquaintance. Doubtless you understand the reason for it now.”

Charlotte shook her head. As if anything could ever explain what he had done … “I do not understand it, Mr Gillingham.”

He frowned as he looked at her, as if expecting some sort of revelation. “How long have you been in Sanditon?”

“A few hours.”

“And I suppose you haven’t gotten the chance to speak to Tom or Mary Parker?”

Charlotte took a deep breath and lifted her chin, beginning to grow weary. “What is this line of inquiry leading to, Mr Gillingham?”

“Nothing in particular,” he said smiling and looking away from her. “Just ascertaining that I have entered the play far too early.”

“A play?” Charlotte said as anger began to rise in her chest. She had come there in the hopes that they could make peace. She had even hoped she could induce him to resolve matters with Sidney. But Mr Gillingham was not interested in that. As always, all he truly cared about was his own vacuous, mean-spirited machinations.

“Mr Parker and I are not puppets you can amuse yourself with!”

“You misunderstand my meaning …”

“I don’t think I do!” Charlotte cut him, before he could finish, the pain and stress of the last few days slowly overwhelming her. “You enjoy toying with people! You use them without thought for how your pleasure might affect or harm those around you.”

She had meant her words to sound hard and unyielding, but Mr Gillingham just laughed..

“You are a strange woman, Miss Heywood,” he said in a tone that sounded as a compliment but left Charlotte weary. “Equal parts naive and astute … unable to stop yourself from defending those you care for even after they broke your heart.”

His frankness left Charlotte reeling. “You are right, Mr Gillingham. I am naïve and foolish. And this conversation is more proof of it. Good day!”

She turned to leave, determined to walk back towards the town, but he caught up with her.

“I’ve upset you. Believe me that was not my intention.”

“No!” she shouted over the wind. “It was your intention to speak vague nothings to me in the hopes I might speak nonsense back. I shouldn’t expect any better given your callous and selfish behavior at Wentworth!”

He stepped away from her then and seemed if not ashamed, at least contrite, but she could not trust that it was genuine, not after yet again being played for a fool.

“It is true,” he said, at length, “I am selfish. Although I wager one day you will be grateful for it.”

“I would be grateful if this conversation could come to an end.”

To her relief, he seemed to understand and bowed. “Of course. In truth I only came to discharge an errand as I will be leaving England in a few days.” He reached inside his coat and took out a letter that he handed to her. “I believe this belongs to you. It was addressed to my London residence by mistake.”

Charlotte took the envelope and recognized her mother’s writing instantly, although it seemed more jagged and hurried than her usual elaborate, flowery style. Something about it caused her alarm and she ripped it open, beginning to read quickly.

Within the first few words, her vision became blurred and she gripped the paper tightly, forcing it to remain straight at it fluttered in the wind. Her eyes skimmed over words in a daze, unable to focus as her heart began to beat out of control.

_Alison … accident … very ill … might lose her leg …_

“No! No!” she blurted out, as she began to run. “This cannot be!” Not Alison. Not her sister.

All this time she had been so consumed by her own petty misery that she had forgotten she hadn’t gotten a letter from Alison in weeks. Shame gripped Charlotte as she realized she had even been grateful for it, as it meant she would not have to lie again.

She raced through the half cobbled streets until her feet were buried ankle deep into a freezing murky puddle. She gasped at the sensation and lifted her wet skirts.

“Miss Heywood, where are you going?” Mr Gillingham said, finally catching up with her.

“I have to go home!” she said, holding the letter close to her chest and looking around in a daze. Her whole body was trembling and she could not think any longer.

The letter was dated the 4th of December. _Ten days ago_ …. What had happened in all that time? Was Alison …

As she took a step forward, she slipped and nearly collapsed as Mr Gillingham grabbed a hold of her arms and hoisted her up.

“You are not well,” he said, helping her to walk. “Let me escort you back to Trafalgar House.”

“No!” she said, pulling herself out of his grip and staggering. “I must go home to Willingden. I haven’t a moment to lose!”

She started running again, towards the coach station, forcing him to keep up with her.

“That would be difficult, Miss Heywood. The last carriage of the day left an hour ago.”

This stopped Charlotte in her tracks and her heart sunk. Despair gripped her, tears falling out of her eyes despite her best efforts to control her emotions. “You don’t understand!” she screamed at him. “I must go home!”

Mr Gillingham stared at her for a moment, taken aback by her reaction, before finally nodding and taking her arm. “Come. I will see you home.”

***

He sat behind the desk, hunched over, staring at the piece of paper in front of him. He did not know how much time had passed since he had moved or even breathed, but he began reading the letter again, already knowing its content by heart:

_Mr Parker,_

_It gives me no pleasure to write to you, sir, of this most delicate and egregious of matters, but I am afraid that as your counsel and attorney it is my obligation to appraise you of this situation and put you on your guard._

_As you may well remember, a few months ago, you informed me of your impending nuptials to Mrs Eliza Campion and of your intention of using the funds acquired through this matrimony to settle the debts incurred by your brother, Mr Tom Parker._

_As the marriage had not been officiated at the time, your own monies and properties were used to safeguard Sanditon from its debt collectors, all of it leveraged against the eventual lump sum of 80.000 pounds Mrs Campion would bring to your union._

_I am afraid, sir, that the gravest of errors has occurred on that score and I cannot help but feel responsible for it. As your counsel, it was my duty to do due diligence before thus resolving the matters with Sanditon’s creditors. However, since Mrs Campion’s fortunes seemed to be a matter of public record and the foreign nature of Mr Campion’s business remained a mystery, this verification process was never undergone._

_If it had been, the truth might have been revealed sooner. As it is, I’m afraid I have only my bank relations to thank for the warning._

_The truth of the matter is, Mr Parker, that Mrs Campion’s money is not hers to offer in either marriage or investment. Upon his deathbed, Mr Campion created an additional will which canceled all prior provisions and left the entire sum of his estates to his nephew, Mr Andrew Gillingham, on the expressed requirement that he would forfeit all if he should go on to marry his widow._

_It is thanks to this rather superfluous bit of gossip that the news of Mr Gillingham’s claiming of his rightful inheritance became known to my friend and thus to me. As you can imagine, the whole of London will soon be speculating as to the nature of the relationship between Mrs Campion and Mr Gillingham._

_On that score, I am afraid I have no advice to offer or any expectation that such a presumption would be well received. On the matter of the money, however, I must, in no uncertain terms, urge that you find alternative investments to cover the debts. If you do not, your own possessions, as well as those of your brother will be lost and legal actions will be taken for the recovery of the rest of the 80.000 pounds._

_Mr Parker, I cannot stress enough the grave nature of this situation and I ask you to make haste and come to London as soon as possible. Mr Gillingham has already requested the recognition of his uncle’s will and he should take possession of the money as early as next week._

_I have sent this letter together with another note addressed to your brother in which I relay the same sentiment, without the personal details of Mr Campion’s will which I leave to you to decide if and how to share with him._

_With regards,_

_John Murray Esq._

“Sidney! … Sidney!”

He became vaguely aware of Tom calling out to him and of the sound of his boots pacing up and down the library floor. He finally looked up to see his brother standing in the middle of the room, mouth half open and panting in a fit of panic.

“What do we do now, Sidney?” he said. “What do we do now?”

He took a deep breath and attempted to speak, but no words came out.

_I used to think love could survive any obstacle … But I was being naïve …_ Charlotte’s voice filled his mind, causing him to lose track of everything around him.

What had he done? _God!_ What had he done?

When he had proposed to Eliza, he had hardened his heart and told himself that Charlotte would not suffer for it. She was young, after all, and she had found him wanting in so many ways that she would certainly forget him soon enough and find someone more worthy. He kept telling himself that, even as she broke down in front of him when he told her what he had done.

It was only when they were reunited in London that the truth became readily apparent. His betrayal was etched on her features, present in every look she gave him, hidden underneath her apparently indifferent demeanor. It screamed his guilt at him even when her kind and generous nature tried to soothe and comfort him.

She had loved him … More than he had known and far more than he deserved. And in turn he had repaid that love by inflicting on her the same pain he had once suffered at Eliza’s hands.

And for what? He had condemned her to months of misery and cast himself as a villain that would deny his own heart for money. All of it for what? His eyes lingered on the letter again, feeling as if every word mocked him.

“Sidney!” Tom said. “You’ve been staring at that damn piece of paper for close to two hours! Say something!”

He gritted his teeth and suddenly crumpled the letter in his hand, feeling the bile rise in his throat. “What do you want me to say, Tom? We’re ruined. Is it not obvious?” He threw the paper ball with as much force as he could, managing to hit one of Tom’s prized roman busts. “Do you want to tell Lady Denham or should I?”

Tom released a staggered breath and his face twisted in a grimace of sheer desperation. “I cannot believe it! It had all worked out so well!” he said, banging his foot on the floor the way his small son, Henry, had gotten in the habit of doing. “How could you not check that she was in possession of the money prior to proposing?”

The question twisted Sidney’s insides and he turned from his brother in an attempt to ignore it.

He stood up and headed for the liquor cart placed near the window. He took the bottle of scotch and poured himself almost a full glass that he began drinking immediately.

“Forgive me,” Tom said, coming to his side and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Sidney smiled a tight smile and took a step away from him. “It’s alright.”

“What am I going to tell Mary, Sidney? What will happen to her and the children?”

He took a deep breath and gulped more of the scotch. He was grateful that he, at least, did not have that worry. If there was one silver lining to this whole farce it was that he had not condemned Charlotte to share in his ruin. “Arthur will take care of them.”

“Yes … yes … I’m sure he … I say, couldn’t you talk to Lord Babington? He seemed very enthusiastic about …”

“Tom!” Sidney said, tightening his grip on his glass.

“No, no! Hear me out! I’m not saying we should ask for the money as a loan. We could make him a partner.”

“Asking George for that amount of money is out of the question. We are on our own. The sooner you accept it, the better.”

“But why?” Tom pressed the matter further, as Sidney’s pulse began to race. “Sanditon can be a great investment if given the right support, brother. I just know it! You should have seen the kind of interest I raised at the Wentworth ball! And with the loan I took to finish the terrace apartments, we will be up and running by April.”

It took a moment for his words to register as Sidney found it harder and harder to pay attention to his brother’s ramblings, but slowly he began making sense of it and a cold sort of blinding anger took hold of him.

“You took out a loan?” he asked, turning to glare at Tom. “Did we not agree no more money should be spent until we were certain of Sanditon’s prospects?”

His brother looked at him with an expression of guilt he had seen since he was a child and he blinked profusely, trying to work up the courage to tell him what he had done.

“Oh … I forgot to mention it,” he said, avoiding looking at him and busying himself with the liquor bottles. “Both Lord Cavendish and Lord Randall expressed an interest in reserving accommodations in Sanditon for the entirety of the season. They are personages of the highest rank within Yorkshire society and nothing but the terrace apartments would do for them. I was obliged to assure them they would be completed by the start of the season.”

Something seemed to break within Sidney and before he knew quite what he was doing, he threw the glass across the room and gripped Tom by the collar.

“Sidney!” Tom yelped, pushing at his hands. “Sidney! Stop!”

He hoisted him into the air and dragged him across the room. “How much?” he shouted.

He shook and pushed him, until Tom lost his footing and came crashing down over the large Sanditon model in the middle of the room. Miniature tenements and lamps flew everywhere; whole streets were wiped out as Tom tried to get up.

“How much did you borrow, Tom?” Sidney shouted, his hand raised over him, balled into a fist. It took all of the control he had not to hit him.

“10 …” Tom finally said, trying to escape Sidney’s vice like grip. “10.000 pounds.”

“What is going on?” He dimly heard Mary’s panicked voice behind him. “Sidney! You’re hurting him!”

He looked up to find Mary and Georgiana standing in the doorway. The expression on their faces made him take a step back immediately. They were afraid. As he looked down on Tom, he could see the same expression of terror on his face.

Sidney’s arms fell around him like lead and he staggered to the fireplace, panting. He put a trembling hand against his mouth, in horror. He had become a brute. A madman.

“What is the matter?” Mary said.

“Nothing, my dear. Nothing at all,” Tom said. “Sidney and I were only …”

“Enough!” Sidney said, turning around to look at him. “For once in your life tell the truth, Tom. Tell your wife she married an irresponsible, selfish coward who has finally managed to ruin his entire family!”

“Sidney!” Mary admonished him, helping Tom up from among the rabble of his ruined miniatures. “Is that really necessary?”

“Eliza lied, Mary,” Sidney said, when Tom remained silent. “She has no inheritance that will keep Tom’s creditors at bay. And since my brother decided to incur even more debts without my knowledge, he has ensured both of us will go to prison.”

Mary gasped and let go of Tom’s arm.

“I … I was only trying to make Sanditon a success,” Tom said, extending his arms towards Mary who remained just out of reach. He turned towards him with the same supplicant expression. “My dear brother, you are upset. It’s understandable, but you must allow me to explain ...”

Sidney shook his head and turned away from him. “When you first developed your obsession with Sanditon, I thought: He’s a visionary. When you began overreaching your finances, I thought: He’s an idealist. I’ve watched you lie, blackmail and step over all of us in pursuit of your goals and I ignored it, because despite it all, you were my brother and I wanted to believe you were as brilliant as you claimed.”

“Sidney, do not speak this way. We can resolve this. We always have before.”

Tom looked small and frightened, cornered like a wounded animal, deprived of all artifice and pomp. A sinking feeling of utter disappointment filled Sidney. “We are finished, Tom. We were the moment I gave up the person I love most in the world for you and you just stood there and took it as your natural due. The only thing I had left was my freedom and now you’ve taken that from me as well.” 

“No, he hasn’t!”

Georgiana crossed the room quickly, coming to his side. “I will give you the money to save Sanditon.”

Sidney was shocked by her offer and the steely determination in her voice. “Georgiana, please stay out of this.”

She shook her head adamantly and turned towards Tom and Mary. “Would you mind if I spoke to Sidney alone for a moment?”

“Yes, of course,” Mary said, taking her husband’s arm. “Come, Tom.”

Sidney watched Tom being led from the room as if he was a child and as soon as the door had closed, he exhaled in relief.

It only lasted a moment before Georgiana began speaking, her tone as confrontational as it had ever been. “Don’t think that you can tell me what I can or cannot do with my own money.”

Sidney rolled his eyes and sunk into sofa in front of the fireplace. “It’s not your money any more. It’s your husband’s.”

Georgiana crossed her arms and stared him down. “Well, luckily my husband agrees with me. We’ve discussed the matter at great length.”

He was taken aback by the confession and more than a little moved. She might have been a feral handful but her heart was in the right place. “I appreciate your generosity, Georgiana. Truly. But I cannot accept.”

“It’s not a gift!” she said. “It’s an investment! And the lawyer I spoke to assures me you can give me a much better rate of interest than the government bonds.”

“You spoke to a lawyer?” he asked, trying hard not to be impressed.

She nodded and smirked, evidently pleased that she had managed to surprise him. “Arthur came with me.”

“Arthur? What does he have to do with any of this?”

“A great deal!” she said, coming to sit on the sofa next to him. “And don’t you dare be upset with him. He’s the one brother you have that actually cares for your well-being!”

Sidney groaned, not sure he wanted to know the particulars of Arthur’s actions or how much he might have been involved in Georgiana’s elopement. In any case, that was not the pressing matter at hand. “Did this lawyer also tell you that Sanditon is buried in debts and it will be years before it becomes financially viable?”

“Why are you trying to convince me not to give you the money? Do you want to go to debtor’s prison?”

If he was honest with himself, he did not much care where he went in the present situation. Debtor’s prison was as good a place as any. He sighed and extended his hand to her.

“Thank you,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It means a great deal to me that you’re trying to help me. But I did not become your guardian to take your money. It’s my duty to protect you from people that would.”

“What of Charlotte? Don’t you think of her?”

“Charlotte has nothing to do with this.”

“She has everything to do with it! You gave her up to save your brother. I’m offering you the chance to have both.”

“You don’t understand,” Sidney said. “It’s not as simple as that …”

“You love her and she loves you. Seems simple enough to me.”

“I’ve lost her, Georgiana. I let her go. And now I have to live with what I’ve done.” Sidney turned his head towards the window, as Charlotte’s words came back to haunt him. _It is not for you to judge how I chose to mend the heart you broke …_

“You’ve lost her? You’ve lost the girl that traveled all the way to Scotland and back with you? The girl who looks at you as if you hung moon?”

“She doesn’t …”

“She most certainly does! It’s quite sickening!”

“Why are you doing this, Georgiana? You’ve never approved of my courtship of Charlotte and Eliza can no longer vex you ...”

Georgiana laughed and shook her head. “If you must know the vexation the harpy could have caused me didn’t even enter my mind when I made the decision. I want to give you the money because Charlotte is an angel and she deserves to be happy. And, as inexplicable as it may be to me, her happiness is inextricably linked to you.”

She faltered and in an unusual moment of vulnerability, she took his hand. “Besides,” she said avoiding to look at him. “Aside from Otis, you’re the closest thing I have to family. So … you are getting the money. If you refuse to take it, I’ll just give it to Tom. Do you think he will say no?”

She looked very much pleased with herself at the implied threat. They both knew Tom would not give up the opportunity to save himself and the town he cared for above all things.

No matter how much he wanted to fight it, Sidney had no choice but to capitulate.

His heart began to race all of a sudden and he found himself asking: “Where is Charlotte?”

Georgiana grinned from ear to ear. “Let’s find out!”

He almost raced to the door, stepping over the Sanditon model pieces, spurred by his desire to speak to her, to see what she thought of what had transpired and if she could still give him any indication of returning his feelings.

But as soon as he came out of the library, he was faced with Mary, standing in the middle of the hallway.

“And she said nothing else?” she asked the footman, who handed her a note.

“Mary, do you know where Charlotte is?” Georgiana asked. “Sidney wants to talk to her.”

Mary turned towards them and her grim expression stopped Sidney cold. “What’s the matter?”

“Charlotte’s gone,” she said softly. “Howard ran into her by chance at the hotel. She left this for you.”

Mary handed Georgiana a note.

She ripped it open and frowned the longer she read. “She apologizes, but says that she needed to leave immediately. She will write more when she gets the chance.”

“What was she doing at the hotel?” he asked the footman.

“I’m not sure, sir,” he said. “But she got into a gentleman’s carriage. Mr Gillingham, I think was his name …”

The walls seemed to cave in all around him and he could almost see himself on the cliffs watching her be taken away from him again. If he had been a wise man, he would have stayed put and spared himself the agony. But he could not be wise so he rushed out the door in search of her instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two fan placements to mention in this chapter: the details regarding Sidney's stay in Antigua were developed on the request of @and-holly-goes-lightly; the two Georgiana/Sidney conversations and subsequent development of their relationship are dedicated to @ladysusanknowsstuff .


	6. Let me not to the marriage of true minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By a stroke of cruel destiny and brotherly incompetence, Charlotte Heywood and Sidney Parker have been torn apart. The sepparation takes its toll on them both, in different ways, until an old friend decides to step in and lend a helping hand.
> 
> If the summer spent in Sanditon, was filled with adventure and blosoming romance, winter brings with it longing and feelings that struggle to come to the surface from beneath a web of strains and deception. But winter is also a time for comfort and joy. Can Sidney and Charlotte find their way back to each other this Christmas or is their love story destined to remain irrevocably gone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to @and-holly-goes-lightly for beta reading this story. Couldn't have done it without you!

**Part 6**

**_Let me not to the marriage of true minds_ **

**_by William Shakespeare_ **

_Love is not love_

_Which alters when it alteration finds,_

_Or bends with the remover to remove._

_O no! it is an ever-fixed mark_

_That looks on tempests and is never shaken_

He awoke the next morning to the shouts of workers and the hammering of nails into wood. He could swear he had hit his head the night before given the incessant pulsating pain he experienced the moment he became conscious.

The right side of his body had gone numb and, as he tried to get up, he couldn’t feel his arm and fell back down, causing a fresh jolt of pain. He moaned as he stood up again, keeping his eyes closed to try and minimize the headache. “Enough with the banging!” he groaned.

When he finally opened his eyes, the light coming from outside the tavern window nearly blinded him. The snows had started to melt the night before and, by now, the weather was dry and warm enough to permit the workers to return to the site and disrupt his sleep.

“Water!” he shouted at the bartender, as he rubbed his right arm to alleviate the pins and needles shooting up and down.

He could barely move from the pain in his abdomen and legs and for a moment he wondered what had caused the strain in his muscles.

The events of the day before slowly unraveled in his mind and his desperate 20 mile ride came back at him in full force. He had been certain Charlotte couldn’t have gone anywhere but back to Willingden, so without stopping to think on it, he had jumped on his horse and ridden hard trying to catch up with her.

It was only as the animal grew tired that he realized Charlotte had left no word for him. She had not come to him for help. She had not even said good-bye. She had made her decision and he had no right to challenge it.

When he had told her he was going to marry Eliza, she had accepted it and spoke not one word against it. The least she deserved was for him to respect her wishes and not make things any more difficult.

He had returned to Sanditon and drunk himself into oblivion only to have her haunt his dreams. He saw her running in the courtyard at Wentworth, surrounded by his brother’s children, but the more he tried to go to her, the further and further away she was.

He reached for the pitcher of water and drank half of it in one go. The motion only made him more dizzy and he took a deep breath to try and steady himself.

He wondered where she was now … if she was well and back home with her family. He wished he had seen her home, her place and people so he could at least imagine her there, happy and safe.

Instead, the image that his addled mind conjured up was of her at Andrew Gillingham’s side, his hand touching her waist, Charlotte looking up at him with the same wide-eyed gentleness that had once cut through all of his defenses.

He imagined her family welcoming Gillingham with open arms. He was, after all, the man who had saved her life and he was immensely rich on top of it. He felt petty for thinking it, but it was easier to contemplate that his fortune made him more agreeable than to remember that Charlotte had insisted she would only marry for love.

Perhaps it would have been easier to accept had he lost her to someone who was worthy of her. But could Gillingham ever love Charlotte? Would he ever endeavor to deserve her?

“Ah! You’re finally awake!”

A familiar voice drew his attention and he looked up to see the man he had imagined at Charlotte’s side walking towards him.

“What are you doing here?” he said, his entire body tensing. “Where’s Charlotte?”

“Stand down!” Gillingham said, lifting his arms in surrender. “I come with a peace offering.” He put a bowl on the table and sat down on the chair next to him.

“This god forsaken tavern doesn’t serve wine suffocated eels. Can you believe it?”

Gillingham had always put great stock by the remedy, forcing the putrid concoction on him more times than he cared to remember. The look of the black and red slime turned his stomach and he pushed the bowl away, feeling as if he was going to retch.

“Where is Charlotte?”

Gillingham sighed and took out his pocket watch. “She must be back in Willingden by now,” he said. “At least I hope she is, since I expect my carriage to be back here by noon so I can finally depart this demandable place. No disrespect to you or your brother, but Sanditon doesn’t have much to recommend it.”

Sidney gripped the edge of the table tightly, as the room began to spin out of control. “You let her travel alone?” he growled.

“Not my decision, I assure you. For such a small person she has a will of iron.”

Sidney scrutinized his face, unsure of what to believe. He had not realized just how badly he had injured him until that moment. The left side of his jaw was still partly swollen and he had dark purple bruises all around his eyes and nose. 

Despite it, Gillingham managed to remain as defiant and mocking as he had ever been. “Ah, I see! That’s the reason for this sorry state you’re in. The thought of me and Miss Heywood in a carriage together proved too much for you, did it? I almost regret not joining her now … She would certainly have been lively entertainment …”

Sidney’s jaw twitched and he hit the table with his fist. “Don’t ever speak of her that way!” He grabbed him by the collar and shook him. “I don’t know what lies you used to gain her trust but you will live up to them, Andrew or I swear I will kill you!”

“Do not torment yourself any longer, Sidney,” he said, pulling out of his grip. “It would take a far braver man than I to stand between you and Miss Heywood. I have only the one nose, after all.”

He was taken aback by Gillingham’s serious tone and his heart threatened to break through his ribcage as he began to grasp the truth.

Moments passed before he was able to speak. “You mean to say there is no understanding between you and her?”

“The only thing Charlotte Heywood ever gave me were four pheasants and I’m still unsure as to why, since she abandoned me the moment we got back to the house.” He sighed and leaned against the table, looking straight at Sidney. “I should have never said what I did about her. She didn’t deserve it.”

“Why did you?”

“I was attempting to convince someone of where your feelings truly lay.”

“Eliza …” Sidney said, remembering the details of Campion’s will.

“You’ve heard then,” he said. “Did she tell you? Is she here?”

He shook his head, measuring Gillingham from head to toe. “My lawyer informed me.”

“Well … it’s done now.”

He had been such a fool! He had been blinded by the fear of losing the woman he loved, terrified of not being able to stop it from happening. And all that time it was Eliza who Gillingham wanted.

“You’re in love with her,” he summarized, with an unexpected sense of relief.

He could see now the strange tension between them, all through their stay at Wentworth. His impertinent jabs, her reaction to them.

Gillingham scoffed at his words. “Would you have ever thought it of me? Risking life and limb for a woman? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her as stricken as she looked when I pulled open the canopy curtains. I flattered myself she was grieving for my battered appearance, but she made it very clear she was not.”

Sidney had seen that look of hopeless abandonment many times over the years. It seemed to be something Eliza ignited in more men than he had realized.

He had been ready to beat him to a pulp just moments before, but now that he knew Charlotte to be safe from him, he could be generous and even compassionate. “How long?”

“Since the day you proposed to her and she spent the night in my bed.”

It was hard to take Gillingham at his word at the best of times, but the victorious smirk on his face was proof enough he was telling the truth. No doubt he still congratulated himself on his exploits.

Sidney leaned against the bench and closed his eyes. In a moment all pain from his limbs seemed to disappear, as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He had known he would leave Eliza the moment he had read Murray’s letter, but the guilt of doing it was like a thorn in his side.

“And I suppose you carried on after she married your uncle?” he asked.

“With abandon! We thought we were being careful, but the codger must have suspected something and took his revenge in the will.”

“Some would call 80000 less revenge and more reward.”

“No. He knew Eliza would never accept to continue as my mistress. He tore us apart the moment he died.”

Sidney wanted to point out that he could have had her had he given up the money. They would have hardly been destitute given Gillingham personal fortune. But he didn’t. After all, how could he accuse him of being mercenary when he had been lured in by Campion’s money himself?

“Why come here and tell me this? Apart from wanting to harm Eliza even further.”

“You know me well,” Gillingham laughed, but couldn’t quite hide the bitterness in his voice. “But today my desire for retribution is perfectly aligned with your need for escape.”

He took out a stack of letters from inside his coat and put them on the table. “Her letters to me.”

Sidney’s mouth twisted in disgust and he pushed the papers away. “I have no need for these.”

“Take my word on it, you do. She will not let you go without a fight. And that fight will most likely include Miss Heywood.”

Knowing Eliza as he did, he found it hard to argue and he had been careless enough when it came to Charlotte. Her safety and reputation needed to come before his qualms about propriety.

The more he looked at the letters, the clearer it became that his nightmare was soon to be concluding. A heady mix of anxiety and impatience gripped him and he couldn’t help but smile.

“What I wouldn’t give for her to see you now … I make a jest at Miss Heywood’s expense and you’re about ready to pummel me into the ground. I tell you I was carrying on an affair with the woman you proposed to twice and Dasher smiles!”

“Dasher?”

“It’s what we used to call you. She’d ask for something and you’d dash here, there and everywhere to get it for her.” Gillingham stood up from the table, suddenly looking bored. “The best of luck to you, Parker. Give my regards to Mrs Campion.”

Sidney watched as he left, twirling his cane in the air, and remained in place long after he had gone, dumbfounded by the whole conversation.

He could hardly make heads or tails of what the last few days had inflicted on him. He had seen his ward marry a man he was still unsure could truly take care of her. He had seen his efforts for Sanditon come to naught and he had broken off from Tom. He had stared down the barrel of the debtor’s prison. And he had said good-bye to Charlotte more times than he could endure.

As Gillingham’s parting words began to sink in, Sidney tried his best to control himself. When he finally succumbed, he burst out laughing. It wasn’t even that he was happy … not truly … not yet, at least. But just the mere thought that he very soon could be was a balm that calmed the hurricane of emotions that raged inside of him.

***

“Does this look alright?” Charlotte stretched her arms as much as she could, trying to fix the wreath around the hooks she had placed above the window. The desk she had climbed on top of was what her mother liked to call a family heirloom, which only meant that it had been in the house since before her father had been born and age had not been kind to it at all. As she leaned forward and stood on her tip toes, it’s creaked and leaned dangerously.

“Careful, Charlotte!” Alison warned from the bed. “Please come down from there! One broken leg in this family is quite enough.”

Dear Alison had always been the voice of reason and Charlotte could not help but agree with her assessment. Still she persisted in her task, pressing against the window to tuck the end of the wreath safely around the hook.

She turned around smiling and lost her footing as the desk tilted a little more. She spread her legs and arms to keep her balance and then promptly jumped off, making Alison gasp.

“I think it looks well enough,” she said, turning around to admire her work.

“It looks lovely,” Alison said. “Please don’t ever do that again.”

“All done. I promise!”

“I wish you wouldn’t bother so. I am perfectly well.”

Alison was sitting propped against the headboard, her right leg strapped in between long wooden splints and wrapped around with about a dozen cloths. She couldn’t move for fear of disrupting the tower of pillows placed under her foot to keep it elevated. And yet her biggest concern was not troubling her family.

Charlotte shook her head. “Don’t be silly. Christmas is your favorite time of year and I’m going to make sure you enjoy it.”

By the time she had arrived in Willingden, Alison had already been through the resetting of her leg not once, but twice, as the first time didn’t take. She was still riddled with fever and the pain had her waking up several times during the night.

Still, Charlotte took what comfort she could from the doctor’s assurance that she would make a full recovery and was determined that if she could not come down the stairs to enjoy the festivities with them, they would bring up the best of it to her.

She crossed the room and began dragging her travel chest towards the bed. “All that is left to do is to get this out of the way so we can bring the table and decorations up.”

“You should look through it,” Alison said. “The clothes will need airing.”

Charlotte stopped to look at her and wrung her hands. The chest had arrived two days ago and she had put off dealing with it since. She was at least grateful that she didn’t have to lie to Alison any longer.

As soon as they had been able to speak properly, Charlotte had confessed everything to her sister: from what had transpired during the summer to her recent adventures. Dear Alison was more concerned with the state of her health and heart than she was angry that her sister had lied to her, but Charlotte apologized profusely all the same.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, bending down and prying the lid open. “There’s no point in putting it off.”

On top of the neatly arranged clothes, she found a letter written in Georgiana’s particular style. She picked it up and smiled. “Finally! A letter from Georgiana. I thought she would never answer!”

She opened the letter instantly and her eyes skimmed through the short note, seeking something that wasn’t there.

“What does it say?” Alison asked.

“She says she is considering whether to forgive me for leaving without telling her,” she said, trying to laugh. “The wedding breakfast was apparently a success and she and Mr Molyneux are back in London. They are planning a trip to Antigua next summer …”

Her eyes lingered on the letter and it took Alison inquiring further for her to look up.

“Nothing about Mr Parker?”

Charlotte shook her head, trying to be brave. “Mrs Campion must be an ever present fixture these days, with Christmas so near. And Georgiana wouldn’t want to upset me.” She could only contemplate the thought for a moment before she needed to distract herself. “Well then, let’s take these clothes out.”

On top of the pile was the white muslin dress she had worn on her first night at Wentworth. She took it out and gave it a good shake.

“Oh! I love that dress!” Alison said, smiling widely. “Did you have a chance to wear it?”

“I did. At Wentworth, in the largest, most opulent dining room you could ever imagine!”

“It suits you so well. Were you greatly admired?”

The excitement in Alison’s voice and the pride she took in the clothes she made caused Charlotte even more anger as she remembered Mrs Campion’s cruel jabs. It was a lovely dress, no matter what she said. “I was. Everyone remarked on the embroidery.”

She placed the dress on the narrow bed on the other side of the room where Jane slept. She had been not all too happy to share it as they let Alison have the bigger bed all to herself, but Charlotte had promised her a pair of new silk gloves for Easter and that seemed to pacify her well enough.

She continued going through the clothes in the trunk, separating the more delicate ones to take down into the solar to be aired. She went about the task with admirable efficiency until she reached the last garment. It was crumpled up in a ball, hidden in one of the corners and for a moment Charlotte couldn’t tell what it was.

As she took it out and unraveled it, her stomach twisted in painful knots as she noticed the elegant stitiching in the shape of an S and a P on the inside of the white shirt.

“A man’s shirt?” Alison asked.

“Yes … I must have taken it from Mr Parker’s room by mistake when we left London for Wentworth.”

“I still can’t believe you were in his room!” Alison whispered. “And that you went to Gretna Green with him! Mama would have a fit!”

Charlotte smiled, holding the shirt close to her. “I was in no danger. Mr Parker made sure I was safe.”

“I still think you should write to him,” Alison said, repeating the advice she had given her the moment Charlotte had told her of Mr Gillingham’s insinuations. “The gall of that horrible man to say such things about you!”

She sighed and came to sit on the bed by Alison’s side. “What would be the purpose of telling him now?”

“Charlotte, you can’t allow your reputation to be so tainted. And for what? To protect Mr Parker’s fiancée? Who did her best to insult you in every manner possible?”

Charlotte shook her head. “I’m not trying to protect her. But Mr Parker must marry her for the sake of Sanditon and he will suffer less if he doesn’t know what she’s done.”

“I don’t know about that,” Alison said, crossing her arms in disapproval. “A resort town is all perfectly fine, I’m sure, but it is not an adequate substitute for you.”

Charlotte laughed. “It’s kind of you to say so, but you might feel differently if you were not my sister, I think. As would most people.”

“Not Mr Parker. Not if he’s as brilliant and wonderful as you claim.”

“He is, Allie,” she said, tracing the initials on the inside of his shirt. “There are aspects of his personality that anger me to distraction but … in everything that matters, he is truly the most wonderful of men.”

Her eyes stung with the burden of unshed tears and she released a staggered breath to keep them at bay. “Perhaps I should throw this away,” she said lifting the shirt. “It would only serve to elicit memories best left forgotten.” Still she clung to it, looking at Alison, hoping to receive permission.

Her sister took the shirt and lifted it up, appraising it. “It is very fine muslin,” she said. “And the pattern is quite unlike anything I have ever seen.”

She finally handed it back to her with a very serious face. “I think you should keep it, Charlotte. I may have need of inspiration in future.”

Charlotte smiled. How could she have ever been so silly as to think her sister would judge her for loving Sidney? She took Allie’s hand and kissed it softly. “Thank you, my love.”

Despite it all, she was glad to finally be home.

***

When he had set for London in order to resolve the matter of Sanditon and Eliza Campion, Sidney was determined to be done with the whole affair in no more than three days. Almost two weeks had passed and he had been driven to despair.

Despite Georgiana’s financial backing, the creditors were reluctant to extend their support for Sanditon when once again it had come so close to ruination. They demanded immediate payment, which would have meant the loss of not only his and Tom’s financial security, but more importantly that of his ward and her husband.

It took countless meetings and ever more attractive terms before they would agree and he didn’t know how he was going to reach the returns he had been forced to promise. Still he refused to dwell on it.

Sanditon was saved and only the matter of Eliza Campion remained. She had written to him almost every day since he had arrived in London and the increasingly desperate and threatening tone of her messages dispelled any notion that their parting would be easy or civil.

Following the scandal that erupted as soon as Gillingham’s inheritance claim became public knowledge, Eliza had been forced to vacate her large Wimpole residence. Luckily for her, Mrs Johnson, one of the only people in London she could still call friend, had offered her accommodations at her husband’s house on Harley Street. Sidney was glad that she could at least preserve a fashionable address if not a fashionable reputation.

He had already announced his visit in the morning, and as soon as he arrived he was ushered into the drawing room where Eliza was anxiously awaiting him.

He found her standing in the middle of the room, dressed in a cream and white dress that made the paleness of her complexion all the more visible. Her eyes were reddened and swollen and her chin was quivering.

His heart sunk at the sight. No matter what her intentions might have been and what had transpired between them, he would have never wished this on her.

She played with the ring on her middle finger as she looked at him. “You’ve come …,” she said, her voice shaking. “I prayed that you would, but I didn’t let myself hope for it.”

She rushed to him and grabbed hold of his hands desperately. He smiled at her as kindly as he could and when she wrapped her arms around him, he embraced her in return.

Her breaths came out in rapid spurts and she was shaking. “Do you forgive me? Please say you forgive me!”

He found it hard to answer her with any measure of honesty, but reluctantly he dragged the words out: “I forgive you.”

“I should have told you everything the moment we were reunited, but I was so afraid to lose you again.” She looked up at him, her face as contrite as he had ever seen it. “I should have never let you go!”

Sidney had wanted to hear her say that for almost 10 years. He had sailed across the world in the hopes of proving as much to her. His ambitions, his ire, his desire for advancement … he had built all of it so he might have her look up at him and see how much he had loved her.

And now that the moment had finally arrived, he was struck by how little the statement moved him. Eliza was appealing to a man who didn’t exist anymore. Perhaps one who had never truly existed.

Slowly, he stepped away from her embrace and held her at arm’s length. “There’s no point in dwelling on it now. We can’t go back, Eliza.”

He could feel her strain against his words but she persisted. “You’re right. We shouldn’t relive the past. Not when we have the rest of our lives to look forward to.”

“Eliza …,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I hope your future brings you everything you could ever want. But I cannot be a part of it.”

She stepped away from him then, her eyes growing large and cold all of a sudden. “No!”

“You must see that it is impossible …”

“I refuse to listen to this!” she said, turning away. “I refuse to believe you would abandon me so callously!”

Sidney grit his teeth, attempting to remain calm. “I cannot blame you for thinking it, but in time you will come to see that we could never make each other happy.”

“You’re a coward!” she said, turning around to face him. All softness was gone and she was hard as marble when she stared at him with sharp eyes. “I thought you ahead of any other man in my acquaintance. How disappointing to realize you are just like all the rest: mercenary and cruel!”

Sidney let the insults wash over him and he swallowed back the bile that they ignited. If this was the price he had to pay to put this whole matter to rest, then he would gladly pay it. “I am sorry for disappointing you, Eliza. I hope the next man lucky enough to win your affections fully meets with your approbation.”

“And what of your little farmer?”

That ignited his anger in a way nothing else could, as she well knew and he remained frozen in place.

“Has she already picked out new furnishings for your drab house next to the abattoir?”

“Don’t do this, Eliza,” he warned. “It’s beneath you.”

“Beneath me?” she scoffed. “I’ll tell you what’s beneath me! Having you discard me for some country governess who simpered her way into your bed!”

“That is enough!” he said, taking a step towards her.

“You are a fool if you think I will stand for it! I won’t allow her to build her happiness on my destruction!”

“Your destruction was your own doing. Charlotte played no part in it.”

“But she might play one in yours,” Eliza said, a forced smile on her face. “How do you think the ton will react if it becomes public knowledge that she conspired to entrap you first in your own bedroom and then at Gretna Green? Do you think they will still flock to your brother’s shabby resort town if they knew she was Andrew Gillingham’s mistress on top of it?”

For a moment she no longer resembled the Eliza he had known. She seemed misshapen, even grotesque, her nostrils flaring, her entire face reddened by the exertion. Rage grasped at him and all thoughts of a peaceful parting were forgotten.

“I suppose you’d be considered a reliable source seeing as you’re an authority on the goings on of Gillingham’s bed.”

She gasped audibly and took a step back, reeling under the burden of his words. “Sidney …”

He regretted the statement instantly and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

“Whatever anyone might have told you,” she said, starting to play with her ring again. “I would have never …”

“Don’t,” he interrupted her. “There’s no need to lie. I’ve read the letters and Dasher isn’t here anymore.”

All expression seemed to leave her and she just stared at him in shock.

“Let’s not pretend, Eliza. Whatever may have been between us, it was over a long time ago. You were right. It was mercenary of me to propose marriage in exchange for your money and I will regret it for the rest of my life. One thing I will say in my defense is that I never lied to you. I came begging for your help and you set the terms by which you would offer it.”

She shook her head, refusing to listen and grabbed hold of his lapels. “I love you, Sidney!” she said, her voice high pitched and desperate. “I truly do love you!”

He smiled a tight smile and removed her hands. “You once left me when I loved you. I truly hope for your sake that you have an easier time forgetting me than I did you.”

As he left her in the drawing room, Sidney’s steps dragged along the hallway, his entire body still feeling the brunt of the conversation and of Eliza’s last broken look as he took his leave.

When he came out of the house, he was surrounded by large snowflakes that drifted slowly around him, falling to the ground and lining the streets of London in a soft blanket that had turned everything still and quiet.

He closed his eyes and let the snow fall onto his face as he filled his lungs with the fresh, cold air. Little by little, he began to feel like himself again.

His steps became more lively and hurried as he came down the stairs and reached for his horse. If he had been a wise man, he would have waited for the snows to subside before undertaking his journey. But he could not be wise, not when his chance at happiness was finally within his grasp.

He now knew what he wanted beyond a shadow of a doubt and the certainty with which he contemplated his decision astounded even himself. Perhaps it was, after all, just a matter of compatibility. 

***

“Oranges and lemons,” Charlotte and Jane sang, holding their interlocking hands high up in the air.

“Ring ye bells at St. Clemens,” Richard answered quickly, bending down and meaning to dash underneath their hand bridge.

“Quick! Catch him!” Alison said from the bed, laughing and clapping along to the song.

The girls were quick enough and the bridge came down, trapping Richard in the middle. He fought against the restraints as theatrically as he could, causing the queue of Heywood’s behind him to burst out laughing merrily.

“When will you pay me?” Charlotte and Jane sung, tightening their arms around Richard.

“Ring ye Bells at ye Old Bailey,” the queue answered.

They lifted their arms and Richard dashed away. “When I am rich,” he sang, mockingly.

Baby Nicholas managed to run after his brother, while his sisters were distracted and avoided the bridge coming down as the rest of his siblings sang: “Ring ye Bells at Fleetditch.”

Frances wasn’t so lucky, as the bridge came down around her as soon as she took her first step. “When will that be?” Charlotte and Jane glared at her.

The littlest ones answered in unison: “Ring ye Bells at Stepney.”

“When I am old,” Frances dismissed them as soon as she was released.

They all stopped and turned towards Alison who sang the last line along with them: “Ring ye Bells at Paul’s.”

She clapped enthusiastically as the youngest of the children eagerly awaited their praise. Next to her, Charlotte could sense Jane’s anticipation and it made her smile. Every year it had been her and Alison that had served as the bridge and Jane wanted to make sure she had proven a worthy substitute.

“That was wonderful, everyone,” Alison said, clapping. “You were all appropriately beastly customers! And you, Jane, were a truly proficient bridge.”

“Can we eat the sweets now?” little Harry whispered looking wistfully towards the table placed in the middle of room. It was covered in trestles and trays filled with pies and cake, and all manner of delicious things that even Charlotte could hardly wait to taste.

“Of course,” she said.

The was all it took for her siblings to run to the table and start eating from every tray they could get their hands on. Margaret, though, lingered a little bit behind, sniffling and rubbing her eyes.

As Charlotte came closer, she realized she was crying. “Maggie, what’s the matter?” she said, bending down. “Are you upset that you didn’t get to go under the bridge?” She picked the little girl up and went towards Alison’s bed. “I’ll tell you what, after dinner, we’ll have another go with mama and papa. And you can go first!”

Maggie shook her head and sighed. “It’s not that,” she said, still swirling her ts. “It’s Reginald.”

“Who’s Reginald?”

“My snow friend. The one I made with Richard this morning,” she said, pointing towards the window. “He’s all alone out there and he’s cold!”

Charlotte wanted to laugh, but she knew it would not do. Maggie had a very compassionate nature. She worried for her doll when she left it in her room for too long, she insisted on no one killing the spiders in the house claiming them as her friends, and she was creating quite the menagerie of rabbits in the vegetable garden.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said taking the little girl to the window and placing her on the desk in front of it. “I’m going to go out there and put a scarf around Reginald to make sure he doesn’t catch a cold. And you can watch me do it from up here. Would you like that?”

Maggie broke out in a gap tooth smile and she nodded enthusiastically.

She was still smiling when Charlotte turned around halfway towards the garden and waved at her. She wrapped the coat tighter around herself as she trenched through the thick layer of snow.

Despite the large flakes that had been falling since the afternoon, the weather was mild and the moon was peaking from behind the clouds, making the snow beneath glow and sparkle. Every branch of every tree in the small landscaped garden in front of the house was covered in snow and she stepped carefully in between the snow angles and smaller snowmen her siblings had created, towards the large one in the middle.

He was a proper creation, nearly as tall as her, with twigs for arms and an old black pot on his head.

“Well, hello, Reginald,” she said, taking the scarf out of her coat pocket. “How are you this fine evening?” She laughed to herself as she tied the scarf around the snow ball that served as Reginald’s head. She fiddled with it, making sure to press it into the snow so it wouldn’t fly away in case of harsh winds that night.

She soon became aware of the sound of horse hooves nearing the house and she turned towards the road. At first she could distinguish nothing through the darkness, but as the sound grew louder and louder and the rider approached the house, Charlotte’s heart caught in her throat.

Her vision became foggy for a moment and she was certain she was imagining things, as Sidney dismounted his black horse much in the same manner as he had done on the cliffs all those months ago.

His black great coat, leather breeches and boots contrasted starkly with the white all around him and, as he walked through the falling snowflakes, his boots crunched the snow underneath.

Behind him, Charlotte could see a trail of footprints and she realized that he was, in fact, not a figment of her imagination. but real flesh and blood.

She didn’t know, at first, if he had seen her or was heading towards the house and she found she had no voice to call out to him. But then his eyes locked on hers. It was an unwavering gaze that seemed to permeate through her skin and into her bones, until she was all aflutter.

“Miss Heywood,” he said, his deep voice reverberating all through her body.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out as she stared dumbfounded at him. He had never seemed more beautiful to her than in that moment. He had removed his top hat and snowflakes had cradled in his hair, melting around his temples and shinning in the moonlight. His skin was flushed from the cold and the strain of the ride. But it was his dark eyes that shone brightest of all as he regarded her in that soft, warm way he had that made her feel lightheaded and giddy all at once.

“Miss Heywood, I have come,” he said, rushing his words clumsily. “I have come because I have finally been granted the chance to finish the conversation we started at the Midsummer Ball.”

The memory twisted Charlotte as she remembered how close she had been to utter happiness that night and how quickly it had been taken away. She remembered too when he had caught up with her as she departed Sanditon, and how for a moment she had hoped he had come to tell her that it had all been a dreadful mistake and that he would not marry Mrs Campion after all.

Her heart had been crushed under the unbearable strain of reality so many times that Charlotte did not think she could bare it if she was brought to the brink only to be pushed into the precipice again. Panic gripped her and she turned away from him, staggering through the garden

“Miss Heywood!” she heard him say, as he ran after her.

She walked in a daze, towards the fields, unsure of where she was going or even why, only that she could not keep still.

“Charlotte! Please …”

The sound of her Christian name brought her to a standstill and she wrapped her arms around herself to stop from shaking.

“I was wrong, Charlotte,” Sidney said. “I was terribly, unforgivably wrong. When I asked Eliza to marry me, I thought it was myself I was hurting most of all. I thought you would soon forget me.”

Forget him? How could he have ever thought such a thing? Charlotte wanted to turn and shout at him for being a fool who didn’t know how much he was loved, but she remained still, trying to catch her breath.

“I have come here without expectations or demands. Only to say this: I should have fought for you. For us. And if I should be lucky enough to win back your affections, I assure you no one will ever come before you again!”

She felt hot tears streaming down her cheeks without restraint, but she could not recall when she had started crying. Her heart beat at an ever increased pace, threatening to break through her rib cage as Sidney’s words settled into the very corners of her soul.

“I told you once that I had never wanted to put myself into someone else’s power before. The truth is, you have held my heart in the palm of your hand since the moment we met, and I cannot imagine passing through this life without you.”

Slowly, she turned towards him, unable to bare not seeing him one moment longer. He was standing at some distance and she could barely make out his features, but in the dim moonlight she could see his beautiful lips stretching out into a wide smile that made her heart leap.

“I love you, Charlotte,” he said. “I love you.”

Through the tears, Charlotte began to laugh. It was the first time he had ever told her he loved her and it sounded just as beautiful and honest as she had imagined it. In an instant she ran to him, crushing into his yielding body and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He lifted her up, holding her pressed close to him as she nuzzled against his skin, inhaling the scent of smoke and cedarwood that she had come to recognize so well. “Don’t ever leave me again!” she whispered, holding on so tightly to him, her arms ached.

“Never!” he swore, kissing her hair. “Never!”

He put her down and pulled away from her just a little, but enough to make her gasp. But as he released a shaking breath and his hands cupped her face, she relaxed and leaned into his touch.

“Don’t cry, Charlotte,” he said, wiping at her tears. “Don’t cry …”

“It’s only tears of happiness. And you’re crying too, you know.” She brushed her hand over his wet cheek, making him smile. “Neither one of us is very good at being insensible of feeling, are we?”

Sidney burst out laughing and embraced her again. “No, we are not! Thank God for that!”

She sighed in relief as she leaned against him, lulled to the sound of his heartbeat, while his fingers moved through her hair. Little by little, the outside world began to creep in and terrifying realities threatened to once again rip him from her arms.

“What will happen to Tom without Mrs Campion’s help?” she asked, her fingers digging into the folds of his coat.

“I was such a fool, Charlotte,” Sidney said, his body shaking with a sad sort of laugh. “I almost ruined our happiness for nothing. Eliza never had Campion’s inheritance. It belonged to Gillingham all along.”

“What?” she said, looking up at him. “Is that why Mr Gillingham came back to England?”

“In part … I think he hoped to regain her attentions. They had been carrying on an affair for years … Even when she and I were first engaged.”

“That long …?” Charlotte searched his face, fearing that she might detect pain in his recounting of the affair, but to her relief there was none.

“You knew …” he said, frowning.

She had not realized she had given herself away with her remark “I suspected something had transpired between the two of them at Wentworth.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She was stricken with shame at having concealed the truth from him. She should have done as Alison advised and told him the truth.

“I wanted to. At the ball, do you remember? But then I thought perhaps it was better if you didn’t know.” She recalled the utter desolation she felt as she gazed out of the window of the carriage to the splendors Mrs Campion’s money had brought to Sanditon.

“Sidney, Mrs Campion was the key to Sanditon’s salvation!” she said. “What will happen now?”

Sidney tightened his grip on her hands, caressing them reassuringly. “Georgiana has given me the money to cover Tom’s debts.”

Charlotte could almost scream for the joy of it! Oh, Georgiana! Her kind friend! How could she ever repay her?

“I didn’t want to accept it, but she left me no choice.”

“I’m certain you will not let her down,” she said, caressing his cheek

“She did it for you,” he said. “She’s under the impression that your happiness depends on me. Is she correct?”

A shy smile struggled to the surface as Charlotte’s body was overcome with an expectant, tingling sensation. Her breath caught in her throat and all she could do was nod.

Sidney released a staggered breath and he pressed his forehead against hers. “Charlotte … My dearest Charlotte …” He struggled to speak, but when he finally continued the words came out strangled with emotion: “Will you marry me?”

The question lingered in the air as Charlotte replayed it in her mind again and again. It was over. It was finally over. The torment, the doubt … they were all gone. She did not have to fear hope any longer.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. Yes. Yes …”

She was unable to stop herself from expressing her desire and happiness now that she finally could, but he silenced her words as his warm hands brushed the hair away from around her neck and cheeks and he bent down to kiss her.

A strangled moan escaped him right before his lips tugged at hers, leaving her gasping, as she melted into his arms. His tongue darted inside her mouth and the new sensations he ignited in her were as intoxicating as strong drink. She found herself shyly responding, enjoying the heady taste of him on her tongue.

His hands wrapped around her waist, going under her coat to grasp at her body through her thin dress and her skin was enveloped into a sweet ache that spread across her core, causing her to tremble and sway in his arms.

When he finally broke their kiss, they were both panting and holding on tightly to each other. His lips still brushed against hers, dropping soft kisses as he spoke.

“Your hair is loose again,” he said, his finger wrapping around a curl.

“Yes,” she said. “Just when I’m at home. I know ladies are supposed to keep it up at all times and I am trying to …”

“No,” he said, moving from her lips to kiss her nose. “It’s perfect just the way it is.”

He looked at her so admiringly that she couldn’t help but believe him and, under the impulse of the moment, she cupped his face and kissed him deeply, eliciting a growl from him that reverberated against her lips.

“I should go,” he said, when they parted.

“What?” Just the mere thought was repellent. “Go where?”

“Just to the village. I must sleep somewhere tonight, unless you have a chicken coup where you can hide me.”

“I’m sure we can find you accommodations inside the house, Mr Parker.”

He stepped out of her embrace, still holding on to her hands tightly. “It’s Christmas Eve, Charlotte. Your family doesn’t know me and this is hardly the time to make new acquaintances.”

“They will get to know you. And they will love you,” she promised “But not as much as I do. There are few claims I can make for myself, but this is one of them: I love you best in all the world.”

Her eyes became lost in his and after a moment she took him by the hand and led him towards the house. In their wake, they left a trail of intertwining footprints while snowflakes danced all around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for reading. I hope you enjoyed the ride and Merry Christmas!


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